I never thought I would turn 56. And I still can't believe that I am aging. My neck is starting to waddle like a turkey and I have troublesome wrinkles on my forehead. My hands are no longer soft and smooth. Worse, they are no longer dexter. I now use reading glasses and I see whites on the roots of my hair.
I still feel like my fingers can still wrap around the old familiar guitar neck and play some music that can silence a room or make people look. I still feel like I can duplicate some good guitar licks and strums that I hear on the radio or cassette tapes. But when I pick up my guitar, my fingers freeze and my once dependable muscle memory escapes me. So I put the guitar down with sad resignation. The other night, I watched some young teenagers rehearse for a song that they were going to perform at a ward party. Two of them were playing the guitar and couldn't find the proper chords to a part of the song. I asked them if they wanted some help with the chords and they just ignored me as though I didn't know anything. I get it. What would a 55 year old woman know about playing the guitar. But they don't know how good I was. They don't know that I've traveled to many countries because of how good I played. They don't know of adventures I've experienced because of my musical talents. They don't know that I've done concerts, television shows, tours, stage shows. They don't know that I can play the chords to any song I can sing just by listening.
At times I feel like my children don't realize how much I understand them--that my reactions are sometimes aimed at my own experiences being replayed with them playing my role. At times I react out of frustration as I am seized with the realization that my warnings and counsels are not enough to save them from the consequences of their actions or choices. That although I see things with clarity because I've been on that road, I cannot articulate why its important to heed my warning when they can't see what I see. And even when they can understand what I'm saying because they are smarter than I ever was at their age, some thing inside me also tells me that learning experientially from their own errors can be more important than eluding them. So I have to watch them learn experientially....and painful as that may be, it is sometimes necessary. Little do they know that I've passed through the same road. I've loved and been inlove. I've had heartaches such that I couldn't see past the darkness. I've felt loneliness and also exuberance, passion and the thrill of taking risks. At one time I've also felt invincible, untouchable...immortal. And now, as I turn 56, I still want to feel exuberant. But the burdens of responsibility, decorum and expectations are heavy as I age. Perhaps its cellular. Or just what 'old' means.
I sometimes wonder if there is still something in my old bag of tricks that can dazzle like I used to be able to do. I can still hear music in my ears. I can still create. I can still keep up with technology. My mind is still sharp. But at times I catch a glimpse of my image in the mirror at night or in the early mornings and I see an older woman. Her image does not match how I see myself.
I still long for romantic nights, to be held tight, to be taken care of. And I still like to hold hands with my best friend and companion. And I still like to use the private language and secret signs that we playfully created as a young couple inlove.
But oh well. I am blessed with good genes. My mother still looks good at 80. So maybe, just maybe, I can still die 'young'.
