The Real Truth About Aging . . .
“Age is not a particularly interesting subject. Anyone can get old. All you have to do is live long enough.” –Groucho Marx
The real truth about aging is wrinkles on the forehead where once the terrain was smooth; unsightly age spots on a hitherto unblemished complexion; a spidery web of veins on formerly flawless skin.
The real truth about aging is that if one is so inclined, it is important, nay, mandatory, to have your dermatologist on speed dial. Next to the handy dandy number that indicates your plastic surgeon\’s twenty-four-hour phone line.
The real truth about aging is the self-knowledge that you can get married; get divorced; have kids; survive their terrible two\’s and their terrible teens; watch a parent die, and still find yourself perched on the edge of a whole new and different adventure.
The real truth about aging is the confidence that no matter what curve ball life throws you, you can smash it out of the park. Because you\’ve looked death in the face; you\’ve teetered on the brink and, yet you\’ve lived to tell the story. And nothing but the whole story.
This Thing Called Aging. . .
Bear with me.
I have to tell you something. It\’s about a thing called aging.
When I was in my 20s, a Jane Fonda devotee, an aerobics instructor at Delhi’s Surya Sofitel Hotel, I laughed inwardly seeing my 40s-something class huffing and puffing through my routine of high-impact aerobics. “Jump into the air,” I would yell from my four inch-high bench while my pot-bellied unisex audience would strive to catch their stalling breath.
When I was in my 30s, a young associate at Pillsbury and McKenzie, I dropped my son off to daycare, ran into Department 4 at the San Francisco Superior Court on McAllister Street, trudged home after a long day\’s work and still made the time to hop on the treadmill and run a mile.