The End of Lament

I crossed over today. There’s no other way to say it. Like a dying person who sees the bright light, I’ve stopped the struggle, ended the resistance, faced the truth and found that I am fine with it. All at once and for no reason that I can explain, I am just fine with being 65.

At a stoplight today, I looked up at the sky and thought I should take a picture of this, the top of the windshield and the bluest blue sky. It could be my emblem of freedom, driving around town in a Thunderbird convertible. Two older guys in a black Cadillac looked over at me, gave my car a very approving look, and gave me two thumbs up. I feel fine when people who really appreciate pretty cars like my car. People who have taste, discernment, people like me who are older and have seen a lot of cars and know a nice looking car when they see it. My peers, yes, they know a fine car. A compliment from them is valuable. Worth it.

I could have been on Woodward Avenue in Detroit in the sixties, driving my car up and down the strip, looking for guys. My arm hanging off the side, sometimes lifting my hand to feel the wind, adjusting the mirror just so, and if there is a car to beat, flooring it to pull ahead. So immature. It’s ridiculous and juvenile to have so much of one’s identity tied up in a car. That’s what I tell myself. Today, it was my metaphor, though, so I used it for that, and it fit perfectly.

So while I was swimming today, I thought, Gee, you’re really done with it. The whining, the complaining, the sorrow about becoming older. I swam another lap. You can swim better than a lot of people in this pool, I thought. You’re no Diana Nyad but you can swim farther than you think if you just keep going and stop obsessing about how being 65 entitles you to quit, rest, sit in the hot tub.

I’m going to become a really strong swimmer, I decided. Not just a good swimmer, a really strong one.

And I’m going to keep having great work to do.
And I’m going to write a lot.
And I’m going to keep struggling with my very interesting family.
And I’m going to paint my toes lavender.
And I’m going to drive my car and stop at lights and nod to all the thumbs up as if it is my due, because it is.

That’s what I’m doing now that I’m 65. And it’s all fine. Very fine. So fine.

This was the day that I crossed over.

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Wow. Published in 2013. Seems like a century ago. It’s pretty much how it’s all worked out, except my T-bird died on me. So, not the perfect life, but pretty okay.