Looking through a new lens…

“Look at that sign across the street! I can read that sign!” I said excitedly.

Tugging on My Sweet’s hand I exclaimed, “Oh my gosh, can you see that? That little sign down the street? I can see that! I can READ that!”

If I was a ‘dancing in the streets Mary Tyler Moore-esque twirling, arms outstretched’ kind of girl, I would have been doing that on the streets of Vancouver. I was as outwardly excited as I have ever been in my life! And all the while My Sweet just smiled at me and kept his hand clamped around mine to stop me from walking into lamp posts.

He was probably right to be a little cautious because I wasn’t paying any attention to what was right in front of me, I was too busy reading tiny signs in windows across the street.

He was amused by my reactions but you have to understand, I could SEE! I could see EVERYTHING!

I had worn glasses for as long as I could remember. I got them when I was just five years old. I couldn’t read the writing on the blackboard at school and there were very nearly nose prints on the tv because I kept scootching closer and closer to see the screen. So a few years ago, after having worn glasses and contact lenses for decades, I had laser surgery.

I cannot even begin to describe the miracle of walking out of the surgeon’s office, looking down the street and being able to read the signs on the stores, the exhilarating freedom of no longer having to put on glasses to see. It was life changing and I have loved every minute of my lens-free life since.

Well, I loved it until last week.

I was reading the new Harry Potter book I had borrowed from my daughter-in-law. I noticed I was having to concentrate a bit more and read a bit more slowly. Weird. It was like the text was blurred around the edges just the tiniest bit. I turned on the lamp beside me which helped but not enough.

Horrified as the truth slowly dawned, I reached over and picked up My Sweet’s reading glasses and slipped them on.

Holy crap. Things cleared right up. This was not good. Not good at all.

I reclined my chair just slightly so My Sweet couldn’t quite see me and I kept reading with his glasses on, enjoying the story while a little piece of my pride and vanity shriveled and died.

A few days later I walked into Walmart, a woman on a mission, a secret mission. I grabbed a shopping basket and wandered up and down a few aisles. I picked up a few things I probably didn’t really need all that much before I found myself in the pharmacy. I sidled along until I found the reading glasses at the end of the aisle. Looking both ways to see if anyone I knew was nearby, I found a pair with the lowest magnification, shoulder-checked one more time, slipped them on and checked myself out in the plastic ‘mirror’. Not bad. I took them off and dropped them in the shopping basket wondering if the checkout girl would believe me if I said they were for my mother.

Not long ago, I used the term ‘middle aged’ when I was talking about myself. I gagged a little when I said it. I’m pretty sure I made that comment out loud, “I think I just gagged a little.” My dad, who is 86, just laughed at me. I said it a bit like I was trying it out, seeing if the fit was right. It was, but I didn’t like it.

My age is kind of sneaking up on me. It has been for a little while now. Slowly encroaching around the edges, showing up in unwelcome ways: that little sag in my left eyelid, that weird black hair that keeps showing up just below my chin, the ridiculously microscopic text on the back of dvd’s (I mean seriously, is anybody supposed to actually be able to read that?!).

A couple of years ago after a really bad night, I did a double take in the bathroom mirror because I could have sworn there was a stranger in the bathroom with me, a haggard and grim specter appearing in the mirror like something out of a horror film.

Nope. It was me. That was sad.

When my older sister turned 50 it was hard for her, she didn’t like it. I remember my dad saying with complete sincerity, “It just gets better. Really. Every year just gets better.”

I don’t think it’s age that freaks people out, it’s aging. Those little changes that will eventually turn into bigger changes, those things are kind of scary.

So what am I going to do about it? What do I do to keep aging at bay?

Let’s face it: aging is inevitable except under one circumstance – death – and God willing, I hope that’s a long way off.

I guess I just keep packing the living into my life. I’m booking that walking tour in England for next spring and in a couple of weeks I’m taking a goal-setting and motivational workshop. All around me are amazing examples of how to live a fulfilled life: my older brother is following his passion for travel and photography, several dear friends from my high school years are running marathons, taking cycling vacations, and climbing mountains. Another friend has recently published a book and will be taking the stage of TedX as a featured speaker.

There’s inspiration all around, fine examples of making dreams reality whatever they may be, without excuses, without fear.

It has been one year since I started this blog, publicly sharing my thoughts. It was a big step for me, but, I hope, just one of many in following this particular dream. Thanks for supporting me by reading, I appreciate it more than you know.

For now though, I think it’s time to slip on my snazzy new reading glasses, pull out my Lonely Planet guide to the United Kingdom and figure out the rest of our itinerary for that trip and keep putting a little more living in my life.