I sometimes wonder how much time we spend every day waiting. Waiting for our coffee to brew, waiting for an elevator, waiting in line or waiting for the guy in front of us, who is texting furiously, to realize the stop light has turned green and there is a mob of angry, premenopausal women behind him ready to kick his sorry ass to the curb.
When I was younger waiting wasn’t a big deal. Being young, cocky and possessing more stamina, I wasn’t in any hurry. I pretty much left everything to fate and scoffed at schedules, deadlines and daily planners. As long as my responsibilities were met, I could fly by the seat of my pants and not worry about time.
Now that I’m older I’m finding that flying by the seat of my pants is not an option. To begin with, my pant size has increased over the years and I doubt I could fly by the seat of them without the help of a jet propelled engine.
Multitasking was not a big a deal to me when I was young (unless you count coordinating a shot of bourbon with one hand and a karaoke microphone in the other.) Things got done when they got done. I had all the time in the world.
Fast forward 30 years and suddenly, “all the time in the world” has morphed into, “holy crap, what happened to the last 30 years?” Seriously, one minute I’m strutting around in high heels, tight pants and big hair, dancing like a fool to ABBA and the next minute I’m trudging around in flat shoes, an oversized t-shirt and fat pants. (I still boogie down to Dancing Queen when no one is looking.)
I’ve found that my less-than-stellar level of patience is taking a nose dive which can make for some pretty, shall we say, interesting situations. I’m sorry but I just don’t have time for stupid. That’s another thing about aging; it can make things that aren’t stupid look stupid. That’s been my experience anyway. Or maybe I’m just a schmuck, I don’t know.
Time is taking on more urgency now. What if I run out of time? Who’s going to do the laundry, toss out the penicillin that’s growing in my frig and update my blog? Will I ever get to see the great pyramids of Egypt, the Aurora Borealis or the Octomom marry Jon Gosselin? What’s going to happen to all my stuff? Who’s going to want my favorite tattered old sweatpants, my Best of Milli Vanilli CD or my secret stash of office supplies?
Time is cruel. When you are young you have plenty of time and the energy to do what you want. When you get older, you have less time ahead of you, yet in a cruel twist of fate, you need more time to do what you want because you don’t move as fast as you used to.
They say with time comes wisdom. I’m not sure that applies to me but I’ve learned a few things along the way. I’ve learned that you can’t stop the aging process no matter how much spackle you use to fill in the wrinkles or how many face lifts you schedule. You might look younger but your hands will give you away every time.
Chili Davis once said that growing old is mandatory; growing up is optional. So we can still have fun…go to parties, ride carnival rides, dance to disco tunes and travel. So what if we need more room in our suitcase for things such as urinary incontinence meds, granny panties and Metamucil. It’s all good.
I have a lot to be thankful for. I have a great husband, family and friends and my boobs have not fallen to my knees (yet). What more could a girl ask for?
I will leave you with a quote by Judith Regan, “The key to successful aging is to pay as little attention to it as possible.”