In a moment, a question for you. A big one. But first, something you know well. It’s an old person, in this case a woman, who has somehow found her way onto a morning show where she is being celebrated for a major accomplishment. She is wearing an orchid as big as her head which is bent forward with age. “Well, sir,” she responds to the rapt interviewer, her voice, while tremulous, brimming with pride. “I’m 103 today.”
So here’s my question. When did this miraculous turn of events come about? Not the turning to 103. But at which number of years did she came to view her age as proof not only of her mettle and good fortune–but as a celebration of life? 102? 100?
To answer this, you have got to look deeper than just the image on the screen, for it won’t tell you at what ages she mourned the passing of her husband of 60 years, when her right eye went blind, how old she was when she lost a child, the private pains she endures. Nor will it tell you at what age she saw her first bald eagle, made a new friend or remembered the lyrics to a favorite song. So what exactly was the age at which she finally understood then embraced the fierceness, the faith, the perseverance that the accumulation of life in abundance, always against the odds, represents?
So here’s another question. How old are you? 91 or 86 or 74? We have all suffered losses, taken hits. And yet whether by slowed gait, walker or wheelchair, today is your turn to take a bow. Look in the mirror and soak it all in. So much beauty, it will take your breath away—if you let it. The hair—is it thinning? The belly—does it protrude? Today, is there a new wrinkle? A new age spot? Is there sadness in your eyes that makes you want to cry—tears of joy, too? Then you, dear friend, whatever your age, have become something worth celebrating and you should be proud.
