The Prize of Aging

Today I talk to the Italian Mama, and her wisdom reminds me to slow down, know my limits, and relax into life in my forties. She’s a decade ahead of me. She’s there ahead, waving to me on the path, and shouting out where to avoid the pitfalls. She’s beckoning me into greener, lusher, more peaceful pastures.

Everyone needs someone like her in her life. Everyone needs an Italian Mama who speaks truth, tells you the plain meaning of what’s coming, and who nevertheless leaves you feeling joyful and hopeful.

Today, she tells that I’m getting older. 

“You’re getting older. I hate to tell you, but it’s true.”

She tells me that getting older means I listen in new ways: to my body, to my heart, to my instincts. Getting older means I do half of what I could do in my twenties, but this doesn’t feel like a loss. Getting older means you rest and let everyone else take center stage, but this doesn’t feel like a loss. She tells me it’s wonderful to live so intentionally and so peacefully because you no longer need anyone’s approval. You aren’t trying to prove anything anymore.

It’s the prize of aging.

We finally talk about loving well, about manifesting God’s presence through our very lives, and doing it for love, not for any self-interested motive.

Oh, aging! I’m on my way! It’s glorious!


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