Aging Is A Privilege

Photo by Gary Dorrington

My kids have helped me understand something important about this life.  That nothing stays the same, everything changes.  We are born, we grow, we live, we die.  We are happy, we are sad, excited, mad, . . . life moves and it never stops, even after we die.  

As I grow older and see people, places and things come and go, I feel the transitory aspect of life more than ever.  We are here one moment, and somewhere else the next.  Moving here, moving there, working, raising our kids, going in and out of places, living life.  If we are lucky, while we grow, along with our hardships, we also laugh and smile.  This life is beautiful.  Aging is beautiful.

I don't know why there is such a stigma about getting older.  I like my gray hair and the lines that I see deepening on my face.  The change I see happening to my body.  It means that I have lived.  Perhaps people are afraid to grow older because they associate one's longevity in life with the idea that they are coming closer to death.  People fear the unknown, people fear death.  I know I have.  

I've always had older friends.  Older people amaze me.  They have so many tales.  Their faces tell me about their life.  We all live and we all die.  There is no difference between a baby and a great-great grandmother accept that one has experienced more life than the other.  Death has no clock, it just happens when it happens.  Aging is not only a part of living, it is a privilege.  

When Our Children Know

Photo by G. Dorrington

Today I was reminded of something important.  While desperately trying to get the floor swept and mopped, my son grunted and cried for me to sit down and play with him.  I quickly walked around him trying to finish the work as fast as possible.  I had to clean the floor, right?  I handed him different toys and made funny faces at him in the hopes that he might get distracted and I could get a couple of more minutes to clean.  I even tried turning on music and dancing around the room with broom in hand.

He didn't want a toy, he didn't want funny faces and he most definitely didn't want music.  He wanted me to sit down and focus on him.  To be present with him.  To let him sit in my lap and touch my face.  To smile and look him in the eyes.  As my son begged for me, in his cooing way, I finally stopped and put down the broom.  What was I thinking?  Why had it taken me so long to see that my son needed me in that moment?  Why do I sometimes forget what is important and get caught up in what I think "needs" to be done, or what I "have" to do?  What was most important in that moment--cleaning up dust or interacting with my son who was so bluntly asking for my attention?   

We played with some blocks, handed things back and forth to each other and played a bit of peek-a-boo.  We smiled and laughed with each other, held hands and hugged.  After about 15 minutes, he turned around and scooted to a box of toys where he began playing by himself.  That was it.  I said his name, he looked at me and then smiled and turned back to his toy.  I stood up and continued my work while my son happily played for another 25 minutes.  We were both so much less stressed and once again I was humbly reminded of a valuable lesson.  When our children feel safe and know that they will be taken care of, then they gain the strength and courage they need to venture out on their own.  When our children know they will be heard if they speak up, then they don't need to waste precious time and energy trying to gain our attention over and over.   When our children know that we will be present with them, they can learn to be present with themselves.

Love and light to all the children out there.  Namaste.