In my
fifties I imagined myself to be thirty-five. I felt thirty-five and somehow
lost track of the years that I gained over those last couple of decades. I
still did pretty much what I did at thirty-five accept that I was a little
wiser or a little more cautious. I could predict things and see things that I would
have missed if I was really thirty-five.
Now in my sixties
I imagine myself to be forty-five. I really feel forty-five accept for the occasional
aches and pains that remind me that I am not forty-five. But I do feel ten
years older and am beginning to like being forty-five as opposed to thirty-five.
At
forty-five you have a t lot more experience and you start to begin to let go of
the angst of youth and embrace the stability of maturity. At forty-five you
still look pretty damn good. In fact there are days when you even get mistaken
for much younger. I really like forty-five and am so glad I have matured past thirty-five;
at least in my mind’s eye.
Twenty years
can seem like a long time, but really it goes by in a blink. Suddenly you are a
forty-five year old trapped in a sixty year old body. The body and the psyche
just don’t fit. So I’ve decide to only look at myself in a darkly-lit room, and
fully clothed. I’ll take a brief look at this forty-five year old woman
reminding myself that it’s not the body that determines your age. It’s the state
of mind and in my mind I have gladly gained ten years and am happy to be
forty-five.
Doctor Lynn
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