Irony of Aging

The holidays are almost here which means a new year is just around the corner. I’m not one for resolutions or making a big deal about ringing it in, but I do like the idea of a new year. 2024 hasn’t been all that great to be honest, so I’m looking forward and hopeful that 2025 will be much better.

The thing about a new year is that similar to a birthday, it reminds you that you’re getting older. They say youth is wasted on the young, and for years, I nodded politely while secretly thinking, “What a load of crap.” But now, with a hip that makes questionable noises when I move a certain way and a knee that insists it has better things to do than hold me upright, I finally get it. 

When I was young, I had energy for days. I could run, jump, and bounce back from anything short of a direct meteor strike, and even then, I’d probably just need some Advil and a nap. My body was invincible, but my brain? My brain was under renovation. A tangle of hormones and hubris, I was certain the world revolved around me and that I had all the time in the world. Ok, I knew the world didn’t revolve around me, that’s simplifying the truth. In all honesty, I was naive and believed the way I experienced the world was the only reality - hence, it revolved around me.

Looking back, my youthful self had all the grace and wisdom of a drunk squirrel. I made bad decisions with enthusiasm, ignored good advice with gusto, and approached life as if patience was a mythical creature people talked about but had never actually seen. I believed the world owed me something - though, I couldn’t tell you what - and I was so quick to judge anyone over the age of 25 who dared suggest otherwise.

But here’s the kicker: the very years I spent thinking I was invincible and all-knowing were the same years my body was at its peak. It was a cruel cosmic joke. My body was the equivalent of a luxury sports car, and I drove it like I’d just gotten my learner’s permit. I didn’t appreciate it because I didn’t know how to. And now? Now that I finally have the emotional intelligence to value what I had, I’ve traded in the sports car for something a little more… well… vintage.

Being older is better in so many ways. I’m wiser. Kinder. More patient. I’ve developed the ability to listen - really listen - without immediately planning my counter argument. I’ve learned that the world doesn’t in fact revolve around me and that life is far richer when I focus on what I can give instead of what I can get. I wouldn’t trade this version of myself for anything.

Except, of course, for the knees.

Aging comes with bittersweet irony: the more you learn to love life, the harder your body works to remind you it’s temporary. The things I took for granted when I was young - running upstairs, bending down to put on my shoes, existing without random aches - now feel like luxuries I should’ve appreciated more. If I could go back, I wouldn’t want to be young again, but I’d love to feel young again. To wake up without a symphony of creaks, groans, and cracks. To eat an entire chocolate cake without regretting every choice I’ve ever made.

And yet, as much as I joke about aging, I wouldn’t trade this life for anything. Yes, my body complains more than it used to, and no, I don’t bounce back like I once did, but I’ve gained so much more than I’ve lost. I’ve learned how to love and be loved deeply, laugh freely, and cry without shame. I’ve discovered the joy of slowing down and appreciating the little things - like how my hot chocolate smells or how the sunlight feels on my face.

If I had the energy and vitality now that I had when I was younger, I wouldn’t squander it on late-night parties or reckless adventures just to prove I was invincible. No, I’d channel that boundless energy into things I’ve grown to cherish - like dancing when I’m happy, no matter where I am, not caring if I looked ridiculous because life’s too short to stay still. I’d hike every trail I could find, not because I needed to reach the top, but because I’d finally understand that the joy is in the climb, the journey. I’d wake up early, not begrudgingly dragging myself out of bed, but eager to chase the sunrise, start new projects, and give every ounce of myself to the people and passions that matter most.

If I had the vitality, you’d find me more active and playful, throwing myself into impromptu games of tag, or lifting my nieces and nephews without wincing in protest. My days would be less about conserving energy and more about spending it - joyfully, generously, and with a little extra left over to just sit on the porch, watching the world go by without the nagging ache in my back reminding me how quickly time moves.

The freedom of being a young person who is well looked after is a gift so often squandered in the rush to grow up. When you’re young, you can’t wait to become an adult because you think adulthood means freedom - staying up late, eating ice cream for breakfast, and doing whatever you want whenever you want. I know I was most certainly in a rush to grow up. What I didn’t realize, and what is often not understood by youth eager to grow up, is that being an adult often feels like drowning in a never-ending-to-do list. For every ice cream breakfast, there are ten loads of laundry, a stack of unpaid bills, and a calendar so full it makes your head spin. The very things we resented as kids - having someone else cook our meals, do our laundry, and remind us to get some sleep - were the luxuries of a life we didn’t yet understand. In our rush to grow up, we traded in that precious unencumbered time for responsibility, deadlines, and a deep yearning to carve out just a little space for the things we actually want to do. It’s the great irony of life: when we had all the freedom in the world, we were too impatient to enjoy it.

If youth is wasted on the young, maybe it’s because it has to be. Maybe it’s the folly of youth that makes us learn, and maybe it’s the experience of aging that teaches us to appreciate what we had. Would I go back and do it differently? Sure, I’d stretch more, eat fewer processed foods, and NEVER care what others think about me. But mostly, I’d just tell my younger self to slow down, take a breath, and maybe - just maybe - stop basing my self-value off of others.

And so, I’ll keep moving forward, creaky knees and all, holding onto the hope that wisdom and joy will always outweigh the aches and pains. After all, aging may not be for the faint of heart, but it sure does come with one hell of a view.

Ⓒ December 2024. Beki Lantos. All Rights Reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, or transmitted in any form by any means without prior written permission of the author.