Apparently turning 60 is the new FALLING APART

Hey there, awesome readers!

Like every other human on this planet, at one time I thought I’d be young forever. Clearly, I was delusional.

Case in point…

I remember walking with a friend one hot summer day and suddenly realizing that I didn’t know how old she was. Realistically, she was a friend of a friend. But friendships back then felt more easygoing, more casual. Almost like you didn’t need a reason to hang out.

“I’m 22,” she answered matter-of-factly.

My response?

I had to look away from her. If there had been a thought bubble floating above us, she would have seen these words blaring in my head:

Oh. My. God. SHE’S OOOOLD.

I was 19 at the time.

Apart from taking my youth for granted, I’ve never really worried about aging because I’m agile and active and, well, a little immature.

Then my 60^th spin around the sun came around (see what I did there?) and everything fell apart at the same time…

A patch of eczema suddenly appeared on my face.

My right eyelid thought it was a great time to impregnate itself with its very own stye baby.

And not only did discs decide to bulge out of my spine, but they decided to cozy up against my sciatic nerve. If you’ve never suffered from a flair up of sciatica, let me break it down for you… Jeezuss fuck!

Never mind being unable to dance with my hip hop team during this year’s competition season. I now have trouble with stairs, getting in and out of my car, walking, standing, sitting, and lying down. Basically, everything that has to do with living. It’s awesome.

Seemingly overnight, I’ve become an old woman. I’m not going to lie. Not only is this stage of life filled with unexpected aches and random creaks, I feel like a piñata. And the more I fall apart, the more I see the unrealized dreams and expectations fall around me.

Aging gracefully? Yeah, that’s easy to plan when you’re 19, naïve, and perky.

What I THOUGHT aging gracefully would look like…

Sipping wine on a porch somewhere, feeling wise and accomplished as I watch the sun set.

Reality…

There’s no such thing as aging gracefully.

Limping due to a sports injury when you’re 30 can be graceful. But there’s nothing graceful about hobbling into the bathroom for a middle-of-the-night twinkle.

(Yes, I KNOW it’s “tinkle,” but twinkle makes me sound magical. Give me that at least.)

Regardless of my current and “lovely” health conditions, I am hopeful and starting to see some light at the end of the tunnel.

No, not THAT light. I’m not dead yet. I still have books to write and dishes in the sink.

That’s right, purpose. It’s all about having purpose. And with three books in the works, my body is NOT ALLOWED to audition for a role in The Walking Dead.

Not yet anyway.