Old Age, You Scare Me

You know, there isn't a whole lot in life that causes me great anxiety.  Not a whole lot, but still there is one nagging fear I have.  It’s getting old that bothers me.

Really it’s not even about old age per say; rather, what my life might look like when I’m in my 70’s or 80’s – God willing I live that long.  And this isn’t something new that has snuck up on me either.  About 9 years ago one of the girls and I had a heart to heart about just this topic.  I was at the back end of my 30’s; she was a very wise old age of 5.  Egad, that conversation continues to haunt me.

The short version of the conversation is this: Pea had developed a fear of getting old and being a homeless woman…a bag lady.  It wasn’t personal life circumstances that caused such fear for my little one; instead it was because of our family’s outreach for the homeless.  The conversation really was fabulous.  In the end, Pea made a promise, a commitment; to herself that she would save a large percentage of every dollar she was given or earned, from that moment on.   And she has.  Fear became an incredible motivator for her.

Truthfully, Pea didn’t learn this from me.  In fact, though I know the importance of saving for my own old age, I’ve not been as proactive as I might have been; I dislike having to admit that.  Lately I’ve been wondering if the universe is conspiring against me, because I am bumping into more and more information about women not being prepared for their retirement years.  I guess I could count myself lucky to be in such great company – but I don’t.  Instead it seems to be more of a call to arms; a screaming out for action on my own behalf.

Have you ever had this fear?  If so, and if you have moved beyond paralysis, then I’m hoping you will share some wisdom you have gained.  What resources have you turned to; are there specific online sites you take advantage of, or books you might recommend?

This article puts things in glaring perspective.  I know I am not alone…it is time to move into action.

Spilling Forth

"A woman has got to be able to say, and not feel guilty, 'Who am I, and what do I want out of life?' She mustn't feel selfish and neurotic if she wants goals of her own, outside of husband and children."

 Betty Friedan

These days I find myself asking many questions.  Who exactly am I?  What do I want out of life? What do I want to give back in life?  What and who shall I allow myself to become?  How will I accomplish whatever it is?  I feel an urgency to answer these questions; not because I feel time is running out, but rather, because the timing seems to be right.  Sometimes I allow myself time to sit and be. Just sit and be.  And it's then that I recall snippets of passions I thought I had lost.  I most frequently visualize a stream of water rushing forth.  Now certainly rushing water is not my life passion and yet the image is incredibly empowering for me - it draws me like a moth to a flame.  I am not interested in raging rapids, streams bordered by trees on either side, or great falls of water.  Instead, I see a fountain that happily spills water, just as it is supposed to do.  Nothing more and nothing less.  The fountain expects nothing else of itself, nor does anyone else expect the fountain to do more than the role it has been designed for.

This fountain caught my attention while traveling in Germany several years ago.  I remember spending quite a long time staring at the fountain and the way water fell from it.  That, I thought, is precisely as I want to be.  I want to spill forth.  I want to do precisely what I am intended to do - and I want to look charming while I'm doing it.  Here I am, a few years later, still looking at the photo of that fountain and saying those same words.

Being a wife and mothering our children has brought me great pleasure; I wouldn't change a thing, even as much as I complain and pretend I would.  But I am more than a wife and mother.  I am more than any paycheck I collect.  I just know it.  There, in the recesses of my memory are passions and dreams left unfulfilled.  I am barely able to bring voice to what those passions were, but still they exist and I feel them calling me.

For now I will continue to sit and study the fountain doing exactly what it was designed to do.  I will continue to stare into the stream of water and notice how each has its part in the whole.  And I will continue to listen to the whispers of memories hidden away.  I know that eventually I will spill forth, doing exactly what I am intended to do.  And I will look charming doing whatever it is.