It's easy to say "age is just a number" when you are 25...or 35...or even 45. By your late sixties, reality is harsher.
Everyone you grew up with--celebrities, icons--is dead or dying. You suddenly realize you are moving to the front lines now, whether you want to or not.
The facial imperfections that come with not just age, but time, grief, pain and stress become harder to mitigate. At some point, you have to just accept the new you. I hope there is still a beauty in it, but it is a beauty born of struggle more than good genes.
I'm still determined to make every moment count. Having just finished the five-year project that's my second novel (coming out in Spring 2025), I will probably be on to whatever is coming next sooner rather than later.
I hate doing nothing. Hell, I don't know how anyone has time to do nothing these days. My To Do list is always a mile long. But I will need to decide what my next creative venture is before this year is out. It might be another novel. I honestly can't say just yet. I only know it will be something that feels important to me.
These are the legacy years. You start to wonder what people will say at your funeral, if you even have one. How will you be remembered? And who will even think about you after you're gone?
It's sobering, and makes you realize exactly how much dust in the wind you really are.
I hope to have a great love affair before I kick it--the triumph of hope over experience on that one. I think another decade is plenty for me, I have no desire to move to assisted living or not be able to haul heavy packages from the car.
Shit gets real in your late 60s. There's no two ways about it. But reality is like a wind at your back: it keeps you moving.
Miranda Armstadt
Copyright © 2024 Miranda Armstadt - All Rights Reserved.