When I was about the age of the picture, I asked my grandmother (who was probably 10 years older than I am now) how it felt to get old. She laughed ruefully & shook her head. I look in the mirror, and I wonder: who’s that old lady?? I don’t feel old on the inside.
Me either. I feel far closer to the age of the picture than I do to my grandmother’s age then! And when I look at my beloved, this is who I still see.
Today we looked at cars. Our elder son wants the hybrid hatchback we currently own. And my beloved — who has been a car freak since he picked me up for our first date in a well-cared-for Mustang convertible — wants a nicer car. He apologised for still being a gear head. Why is that something to apologise for? I asked. Some things really don’t change. On the inside, at least…
On the inside, he & I are still this young couple — newly married, getting ready to go 1/2 way around the world to live. A pattern we’d repeat again later, w/ our first son in tow. Loving to see new places hasn’t changed, even if we now have to consider more physical limitations. Like remembering good walking shoes & reading glasses.
So much of life is like this. What things look like on the surface is rarely the whole story. And yet we judge each other on these superficialities: race, gender, age, ethnicity & dress. Things that are only a part (& sometimes a verrry small part, in the case of dress, for instance) of who we are.
My beginner’s heart is tickled that my husband is still the gear head he’s always been — just an older version of the kid who restored an old convertible to cherry condition. The guy who always drove a car he loved, or at least a motorcycle. Greying hair and reading glasses are no more who he really is than my work clothes make me a ‘real’ grown-up.
So I’m working (again) to remember when I meet people to smile, say Hello! and let them be whomever they like. The inside heart of you is, often, the best of you. I, for one, am not only going to try to coax others to share: I’m going to try to share my own girl on a porch swing, dreaming. She’s still alive & well, that girl. Some things really don’t change.