Acceptance

I grew up watching my family toil and sweat on the farm. I put in my fair share, but I wasn't ever as tough as the lot of them, and I felt bad about that.

I wanted to be an athlete like my sister and brothers, but there was no doubt about my shortcomings. Not coordinated enough, truly. If I concentrated really hard, I could throw a ball, but if I relaxed? The throw would turn into a wild fling into space and my brothers would look at me with wonder. Same with a frisbee. Football? Forget it. I have square little hands and short little fingers. Basketball? I tried. I twisted my ankles running lines. That was out. I even tried out for cheerleading in junior high, mostly because a friend wanted to try out. I was loud, for certain, but all the other skills were beyond me. I could swim, but trying out for water polo scared me to death. Those girls were ruthless! If tennis could be about hitting the ball over the fence, I would have been golden.

But then I got into musical theatre and learned that I could dance, and so I did. Danced in shows and took classes in ballet (never my skill. Was told to take African dance instead), and jazz and tap. I was 13 years old when all that started, and as I've said before, the world of theatre saved my life, multiple times.

With a great group of people from the Seattle Children's Theatre, I discovered that I could play softball, and did so with a bunch of actors and techies on Monday afternoons in the summertime, followed by a game of volleyball and then a Mariners game in the Kingdome, if they were in town.

I performed in shows with broken toes and twisted ankles, and I even did a run of a one woman show with a ruptured disc in my back. (Idiot)

Today, as I struggled with my injured knee and lamented the struggle I've had in doing yoga, or walking or biking, (all things that keep me sane and happy and connected to my body in a good way) I looked in the mirror and said: "It's okay. I know you're tired, and getting old." and that made me cry, suddenly.

All this time. Time. What a wild ride it is, to inhabit a body and to have sense memory of strong and subtle muscles, of stamina and quickly healed injuries. Yet now I stand and feel pain, and am amazed when the body that's carried me for 60 plus years shows the wear and tear. No longer an elastic band. I used it up, as I was gifted with a body that did what I asked of it for so many years.

Here it is, a realization of a fact I have stubbornly refused to accept; I have less time ahead of me than I have behind me. My body is tired. My mind wants to race around and find a solution, a little piece of magic that's hidden somewhere. Basically I want to keep doing what I want to do, damn it! Ah. There are the pride, obstinance and tenacity that are my deep roots. They have gotten me through a lifetime of pains and disappointment, and usually got me back on my feet, so that I could run at the obstacles with new energy.

Old age is not a surprise to anyone except the person inside the aging body.

I have been repeating something to myself each time I face a new group of people at work. Each time I wake in the morning. Each time I see something beautiful...I am grateful for this moment. I think I have to remember that gratitude, even when I face this very real and present life change. I am grateful for this moment. Perhaps I also need to add something kind for this body, a thank you for this moment full of thought and sight and emotion. All the things that have made my life the wonderful, challenging, wild ride that it's been.

Thanks for holding me for another day.