Thoughts from writer ANNE LAMONT…
It’s not every day a girl turns 67. I never thought I’d see 18,
and then 21, and then 30, and then fifty! Half a century old.
17 years ago. And now here I am on Medicare, married
two years ago to the coolest guy, with feet that hurt almost
all the time, a mind that scares me with its increasing
forgetfulness and snags, and a heart so filled with love
some days that I feel like a moony teenager and probably
should not be behind the wheel.
Other days, not so much.
It’s frustrating to lose cognitive function, and for everything
to ache the day after a hike. I take some medicine at night
but ten minutes later, I can’t be positive if I took it or not,
and I have to compensate in a dozen ways for my constant
distraction. I got a car five years ago designed for people
who probably should not be driving. It has Keebler elves
hidden behind the dashboard that beep when I am about
to hit another car, or when the car in front of me has
moved. The elves wipe at their forehands at each near
miss.
This is SO not who I am. You’ve got to believe me. I was
the smartest girl in my algebra class junior year. I was a
tennis champ. Now when I get out of bed in the morning, I
limp around like Walter Brennan, and then I limp around off
and on all day trying to remember what I am limping
around looking for. There’s a story in the new book about
accidentally taking the dog’s medicine, which was banned
for humans by the FDA. I called the vet and said, “Oh, I’m
sure you get this all the time.” She said No, not really.
Yet this might be the happiest I’ve ever been. The original
title of Dusk Night Dawn was The Third Third, about the
great blessings of being older—the self-forgiveness, the
grace of myopia, of not seeing everyone’s flaws so clearly,
the pleasures of a much quieter life, of slower and more
attentive walks. But more than anything, the great blessing,
the reason for my deep faith in life and God, is the minuet
of old friendships.
As John Merrick, the Elephant Man said, “My life is full
because that I am loved.” That is exactly and 100% my
truth. I learned in the third third of my life that love is all
there is, that we are Love with skin on, that Blake was right
when he wrote that we are here to learn to endure the
beams of love. Love can be hard. We’re good at hard.
I wrote in the new book, “Love is gentle if sometimes
amused warmth for annoying and deeply disappointing
people, especially ourselves. Love is someone who will
draw near when you cry. Love plops in front of the TV with
a bowl of popcorn and you. Love plops but love also flies.
Love reveals the beauty of sketchy people like us to
ourselves. Love holds up the sacred mirror. Love builds
rickety greenhouses for our wilder seeds to grow. Love can
be reckless (Jesus is good at this), or meek as my dog, or
carry a briefcase. Love is the old man in the park teaching
little kids to play the violin; much time spent tuning, the
children hearing their way into the key he is playing. Love
tiptoes and love lumbers like an elephant, it naps on top of
your chest like a cat. It gooses you, snickers, smooths your
hair. Love is being with a person wherever they are,
however they are acting. Ugh. (A lot of things seem to
come more easily to God.)
My life is full and I am grateful to the point of tears on my
67th birthday because I know I am loved. I just wanted to
share that with you.