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One of the most important dimensions of aging is to bring us to understand that life cannot be taken for granted. Life cannot be devoured—it can only be savored (Joan Chittister, The Gift of Years: Growing Older Gracefully).
The great thing about getting older is that you don’t lose all the other ages you’ve been (Madeline L’Engle, New York Times).
How do you feel about the passage of years? As a young person, I saw the future as stretching endlessly before me. There would be so many decades ahead for me to pursue—and achieve—all my hopes and dreams. As a result, there was plenty of time to waste as well.
This would account for the ridiculous amount of TV I used to watch. When you plan to live forever, spending countless hours sprawled on the living room floor in front of M*A*S*H and All in the Family (and, I blush to admit, Bewitched and Gilligan’s Island) is a perfectly acceptable use of your time.
That illusion of immortality was shattered by the death of my sister Maureen in a car crash when she was 23. Through my pain and shock, I understood for the first time that a long life is not promised to anyone. For a while, back then, I made a point of trying to cherish every day. But human nature being what it is, I soon reverted to my old, time-wasting habits. Even in my 40s and 50s, I told myself that the odds were with me for continued survival, for many years to come.
Now, at almost 70, I sense death as a constant hum in the background of my life. Every trip I take abroad comes with the realization that most of my destinations will be “one-and-dones.” I see my three grandsons getting older, and I no longer assume I will be there to see their children grow up. But here’s the surprise: I do not find these thoughts depressing. Instead an awareness that my life has an expiration date focuses me on making the most of the rest of my journey here on earth.
Divine presents
I have discovered a wonderful tool for self-reflection: the “My Life in Weeks” 4k Weeks Poster. When I heard about this chart, I felt called to buy one.
The average human lifespan is approximately 4,000 weeks. The poster is filled with small, empty squares—one for each week of life from birth through age 88 (another, more optimistic, version goes up to age 100). Every week, you fill in one square. To get started on this project, you share your age when you order, and the company pre-fills the squares of weeks already passed.
I hung my poster on my home office door. “Wow!” I thought. “There are so many filled-in squares already. How did that happen?” I bought a selection of colored pens for my weekly task, and every Monday morning, I’ve added another mark to the “life tally.”
These Monday check-ins with myself, far from being sad or scary, have been wonderful. I think back on the events of my 30s, my 50s. My wedding, my children’s births, jobs good and bad, travels, friendships. I acknowledge the sad times too, of course—losses of loved ones, the onset of my bipolar disorder. But that’s OK. The poster reminds me that I have lived a very full and fulfilling life so far, no matter how much longer I have left on the journey.
These Monday check-ins with myself, far from being sad or scary, have been wonderful.
I’m currently reading a beautiful book by Joan Chittister, The Gift of Years. In it, Chittister explores the divine presents that growing old gives us. Freedom. Wisdom. Transformation. Memories. Meaning. Letting go. Joy. The best present of all? Presence itself. Showing up for life as I never have before. I experience The Gift of Years as a perfect companion to my poster. I now fill in those weekly squares with extra gratitude for everything I have, everything I am, everything old age is teaching me.
As I open these great gifts from God, I notice my hands, with their wrinkles and age spots. There’s no denying that I’m middle-aged only if I plan to reach age 140. But I’ve come to believe that I’m not far removed from that heedless, TV-loving little girl, that grieving sister, that new and overwhelmed parent. All these selves have been woven into the fabric of what I have become, and am still becoming. Madeleine L’Engle’s quotation inspires me to recognize the child, the schoolgirl, the young mother who are still a part of me.
Every Monday, as I begin another blessed week, I choose a color and fill in another square on my poster. I salute all my ages, especially the age I am right now, and give thanks.
