The Process of Aging

This year marks my 15-year college reunion.

I could hardly believe when the promotional emails, post cards, and facebook commentary emerged.

Fifteen years.  Where did it go?

When I was back in Chicago for a half marathon race earlier in the month, I was having dinner with a friend.  After not seeing one another for years, he said, "You look the same as you did in college."

After three babies, a graduate degree, a pseudo career prior to kidlets, sleepless nights, and lots of stress...I could hardly imagine that comment to be true...but I really appreciated it, nonetheless.

Not long after that trip while rifling through old baby clothes boxes, I stumbled upon pictures of me, my old college roommate, travels abroad, and fun times with friends.  I looked at myself in the mirror and then at the picture and thought, hell...maybe, the years have been kind...minus a few wrinkles and bags under the eyes.

When I think about that wide-eyed, hopeful, and extraordinarily green 22-year old college girl, I think about a woman who was yearning, eager, and I guess wanting to be the woman that I am today....married with children and most days extraordinarily happy. 

And when I look at the 37-year old woman in the mirror, sometimes, I long for the days when I would read philosophy texts for hours, drink beer like it was my job, get dressed up for a date and try not to puke from the butterflies (and subsequent beer) in my stomach.

But mostly, I hope that I'll get to look at a 57-year old woman in the mirror who will no longer have children at home.  And a 77-year old woman who will hopefully have finally traveled to Tuscany and published something.  And just maybe a 97-year old woman who will tell stories to her great grandchildren about being born in the 1900's...can you imagine life before the internet?

The process of aging is inevitable.  Some people do it well by owning each season and taking the best parts of who they were into where they're going.  Some people do it poorly by stewing in the past imprisoned by what was.

I'm thankful that the years have been kind and pray that there will be more college reunions to look forward to.

Feeling a Little Nostalgic

I've always considered myself an old soul.

From the time I was little, I could be found eaves dropping on adult conversation at the "big table," drinking coffee even though it was bound to stunt my growth, and dreaming about travels to far off places. 

To that end, I'd also venture to say that I'm a collector of stories, not so much the ones in books, but more so oral tales.  I'm the person that you meet on a plane and find yourself spilling your guts to...where you're from, where you're going, why you're sad that she broke up with you, why you hate your job, what you're hoping for next in life.  I'm also fascinated by my own family history and remember fondly the memories that my grandparents have shared over the years.

So some days, I find myself smack dab in the past remembering all kinds of memories.  High school, college, my first job, single living, life before parenting, first apartments, relationships, community projects, births, deaths...and I become nostalgic.  Why?

Probably because its easy to romanticize life at 21 prior to mortgage payments and babies...but perhaps it's because sometimes, it's only possible to fully appreciate parts of life when you're able to see them in retrospect.  You understand better why you are where you are given where you've been.  You understand how one event had to lead to another to create the opportunity to place you in the here and now.

And yet, with all of that...I still love hearing stories.  I love listening to people reminisce.  I enjoy the passion that comes out when they reflect on what was or what might have been. 

I especially love the story my grandmother used to tell about dating my grandfather while he was in the navy during WWII.  Apparently, he wrote her every day, but because of the postal system, he numbered each letter, so that she would have a chronology to the letters.  He asked her to do the same.  She quietly confided to me that on her letters to him, she advanced the numbers...sending letter #1, then letter #3....skipping #2.  But as she said, he was none the wiser, simply believing that a letter was lost at sea.  And well, a girl can't be stuck in her room writing all day, can she?

I hope that when the time comes, I can share memories with an "old soul" grandchild and enjoy being nostalgic, just for a bit.