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“To everything there is a season, and a time to every purpose under heaven.”
Some people think of Ecclesiastes when they read this proverb, others think of The Byrds’ 1965 hit song, “Turn, Turn, Turn”. I fall into the latter category.
Many view this Bible verse as an acknowledgment of God’s Will — that our lives are in God’s hands, and that everything happens for a reason, in its own time, in accordance with God’s Plan. In other words, as my mother, Of Blessed Memory, often said, either in English or Yiddish, “Man plans and God laughs.”
I respectfully disagree. I believe each season of life is shaped by our attitude and the choices we make, and that we do have tremendous control over our destinies. To me, the phrase simply observes that life comes in phases and stages, and no one gets to stay in any one phase forever.
Life keeps moving forward, time marches on, and we get older every single day, whether we want to or not. The challenge is to find a way — by hook or by crook — to put a positive spin on the declines and indignities that come along with aging.
Scaling back opens new doors
Now comfortably in my 60s, and acutely aware that I’m just a few years younger than my mother was when she died, I’ve had to give certain things up because they no longer comport with the season I’m in. My days of running up the down-escalator at the mall are over because the risk of falling and breaking yet another bone is simply too high.
For the same reason, I look longingly at my pogo stick and stilts collecting dust in the garage, waiting for the day I can teach my twin baby grandsons how to use them. (Grandmothers are expected to have eccentricities. I will not disappoint.)
Although I’ve had to let some things go, I focus on what I can still do relatively safely, like hiking, cycling, racquetball and swimming. All good.
I’ve also aged out of picking up new sports. In my early 40s, for example, a college classmate dared me to try out for the Bay Area’s competitive female roller derby league. I approached it with my usual enthusiasm (if not grace) and I made it into the league. My teammates called me “Madre” because I was nearly 20 years older than all of them.
That season has passed.
I’ve retired my derby name, uniform, helmet, and mouth guard, but not my spirit. Never my spirit.
And letting go of the intense, injury-provoking sports has opened up space for new interests, like “Cardio Drumming” classes.
As a highly competitive person, I never imagined I could enjoy a form of exercise that doesn’t involve trying to win, by scoring more points, goals, baskets or runs. But I love this weekly class, even though nothing about it involves “winning”. The goal is simply to maintain fitness/heart healthiness, and enjoy spending time being active with others.
In that respect, everyone who shows up is a winner — even if we no longer get the participation ribbons we would have received in earlier seasons. No big. We’re so over that.
I also move more slowly now to avoid falling, but I see so much more because I’m no longer rushing. The “always rushing” seasons — and there were so many — are blissfully behind me.
Rushing is not conducive to risk avoidance or self-preservation. And moving more slowly in the season I’m in lets me notice and appreciate small joys: a neighbor’s flowers, a cat in a window, the way the sunlight hits our pool, creating what looks like a majestic impressionist painting on the water’s surface.
Perspective, self-awareness and approach
In this season, I no longer worry that someone might notice I’m not as thin as I once was. It’s so liberating to walk around these days thinking, “No one’s looking at me. I’m just an old lady.” I finally sparkle with a sense of self-awareness that eluded me until I became a sexagenarian.
I’ve earned the liberty to acknowledge my weaknesses and play to my strengths; I don’t have to be good at everything anymore. I can just be really good at the few things that truly matter to me.
And you know what? That’s fine.
Aging is a privilege and a blessing — not a disease, illness or curse. The choice to embrace aging rather than chase youth with fillers, lotions, potions and procedures is personal.
My own choice, every morning, is to embrace whatever season I’m in. I’m thrilled to celebrate another trip around the sun each year — an opportunity denied to so many.
I love that behind every wrinkle, scar, and titanium plate, screw, and pin holding my battered body together, there is a story. A slice of a life lived fully, pain and all.
As I grow wiser with age, I realize that perspective, optimism and connecting with similar-minded people make aging a pleasure.
Chronological age becomes irrelevant as I gravitate toward those who reflect thoughtfully on, and learn from their pasts, consider their futures, and search for silver linings rather than dark gray clouds looming overhead. These are the people who understand that each day, regardless of the season, is a day we will never get back, and that time is not something to “kill”.
My purpose under heaven in this season
I’ve also come to appreciate as I age, that a meaningful life can be lived in every season, even one where your (my) daily earworm is often, “The Old Gray Mare She Ain’t What She Used To Be”. Because there is a time for every purpose under heaven, I’ve been spending this later season doing whatever good I can to leave my little corner of the Earth better off than I found it.
That is now my purpose under heaven.
So wherever I can, and with whatever I have, I joyfully go, do, produce, create, accomplish and help — all for the benefit of my local community. I expect no acknowledgment or reward.
Using the time I have left to help heal our fractured world, one good deed at a time, keeps me feeling my best physically, cognitively and emotionally.
And as I wind down each day with my magnificent, similar-minded husband Jeff beside me, I feel gratified and fulfilled. I can’t imagine a better reward than that. Turn, turn, turn.
Editor’s note: A longtime Pleasanton resident and lawyer, Nancy Lewis has been preparing the weekly Streetwise column for Page 4 of the Pleasanton Weekly print edition for over 15 years. She offered this personal essay on her experience with aging into her 60s, nearing retirement and becoming a grandmother.
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