Each morning, before I even have my coffee, well, while my coffee is heating up, I do my physical therapy exercises. They were originally prescribed to me for my neck and shoulders, a lot of shoulder shrugs, (three sets of 40), but, on my own, I’ve made some adjustments, actually implemented some additions. I bend over from the waist as far as I can, place my right hand on the kitchen counter, and then swing large circles with my left arm. I keep count and do this 40 to 50 times. Then I switch sides and repeat. Then I switch sides for a final time and repeat. By that time, the chime on the microwave goes off, two and a half minutes. William and I don’t throw away old coffee from the day before, we just heat it up.

I added those “bend from the waist” exercises when I read somewhere that the most important physical attribute you can have as you age is being able to bend over, being able to pick up things. I added those “bend from the waist” exercises when I realized that when I dropped something, I groaned because then I knew I had to bend over and pick something up. I still groan when that happens, but, at least, I can pick up the item. I don’t want to buy, and then use, one of those “grabber” tools.

I am 71 years old. Friends in their 80s and 90s think I am young. Friends in their 50s and 60s think I am still of a viable age. Friends younger than 50, I’m thinking of my close friend M— who is in her early forties, think I am wise and talented and have a lot to offer.  She often seeks out my advice. 

Me, I think a lot of what is said about aging falls short: “Each day is a blessing.” “You’re only as old as you feel.” “Age isn’t a number, it’s an attitude.” Like all the other changes and adjustments they have made to the way we look at the world, maybe the baby boomers need to re-write all of this.     

“The afternoon knows what the morning never suspected.” (Robert Frost)

Some months back, I said to my therapist Linda, who herself is approaching her mid- eighties, “I think I am learning that aging means letting go.” 

She answered me back in a tone that seemed a bit condescending, “You’re just learning that now?” I laughed. I laughed because I have known her since I was in my mid-thirties. I laughed because I really can’t think of anything she could say or do that would offend me.  

Aging means letting go. I am good at letting go of items in my physical orbit. I have seen over and over again, in my neighborhood, in my own extended family and those of friends, that when a person dies, a dumpster is rented and then filled with perfectly good items. Tossed out and thrown into landfills. I read once that caring about the world after you are no longer part of it is the greatest form of altruism. I agree. Quite often I say to William, “Well, no one’s going to have to get a dumpster for my stuff.” I say to William, “Someone can use it, will use it,” with each donation I make to thrift shops. 

Letting go. If aging is about letting go and not about losing, then how do the deaths of the people I loved most in this world factor into the equation? Do we lose, then learn to accept? Do we lose, then learn to let go? Though Plato stressed disengagement — freeing the aged for spiritual and intellectual contemplation — he espoused a dual perspective. Continuity, important that we stay active, that we continue doing what we are doing… so, I start my day, every day, swinging wide circles. Even so, I feel how aging is fraying the fabric of my life.  

Barbara A. Rouillard, a retired public high school teacher, lives in Springfield.