Mind over Matter

Here's the recurring theme in this blog, in case I haven't bludgeoned all of you over the head enough with it: there's a lack of control we have to contend with as we age.  For most of our lives, assuming Dear Reader, you are like me and have been relatively healthy, we controlled the show: we don't like the hair, we dye it. We don't like our weight: we diet. We love that outfit, we die for it, and get it one way or another and figure out a way to squeeze into it. Then we hit 60, which I read recently, is a physical watershed where our bodies hit a massive change, and suddenly, said body and our bodily limitations begin calling the shots. For individuals such as myself and my mother (thinking back to her overreaction to her mild Parkinson's), that's not an easy transition.  I was brought up by a control freak. I learned that mindset well.  So, I don't adapt well to the change in the pecking order. Sue me.

Now, if I take a step back, I must confess: we were never as in control as we thought. I've worn glasses since I was 5 when a routine school eye examination caught my lazy left eye. That fact alone landed me in the nerd column (honestly, I would've gotten there eventually) with my peers.  I could never do well in gym class, which cemented the nerd, unpopular girl status. It wasn't until I was a junior in high school (the last year PE was mandatory and very definitely the last year I wanted anything to do with it) that my teacher realized I struggled with a lot of it because I saw items slightly off-kilter from where they actually were.  I did okay at volleyball because the ball was large enough that it didn't matter, but in tennis, badminton, ping pong, etc. I sucked. Balance beam: forget about it; it was terrifying.  Hurdles?  Same. I could jump high enough if I ran next to them, but I slammed into them whenever it came down to actually competing. We both knew in that moment she could have coached me to compensate if she had realized it earlier. Too little, too late. But, it was a relief to know there was at least a partial cause for my ineptitude, and hopefully, her realization helped her to help someone else along her career path.

Knowing and being cognizant of the fact that things aren't quite what (or where, in my case) they appear and that there was a reason I struggled at so many things others found easy, rather than I just "did," was a weight lifted off my shoulders. It's hard to describe, but at that moment, my lifetime of needing to know the "why" of everything turned on. If you understand why something happens, you have some control over how to handle it. There are things you can do about it, and it all makes sense.

But, sort of like I don't know why I have a lazy eye, I don't get the why when it comes to aging. Why did I develop a tumor that sucked the calcium out of my bones, and why do I still, even weeks after the surgery, have dropping levels of vitamin D that contribute to the problem (and is the likely culprit of my depression - another topic for another time). Why do I have the map of Middle Earth on my right leg? You probably have a list of your own bodily issues that you ponder as to why they are happening to you because you did nothing to deserve that kind of abuse from your own body.

But here is the reality. This is me. That's you. Now. As we are. Weird leg veins and all. As I was reminded after my last post, some acceptance must accompany our new realities. Or, as some might say: we have to suck it up, Buttercups. 

So, I've been pondering the question: where do we go from here? Obviously, for all of us who have these little issues popping up as time marches on - and that's probably all of us - we consult our doctors and do what they say. We research what my surgeon calls "Dr. Google" and try to educate ourselves even more about this or that. We try to make intelligent decisions about what we do and how we treat our bodies (most of us), which is how we exercise some control. 

But maybe, most of all, we get our minds wrapped around the reality of aging and decide it can't stop us from being us.  I faltered a little in that resolve a couple of weeks ago, but getting there...