aging gracefully

Frosted Face: Aging Gracefully

frosted muzzle

Raindrops fell this morning as I sat next to Kylie looking out the front door, her fur extra soft after she dried off after being out in the rain earlier this morning.

Every now and then I notice a little more frosting on her face, slowing spreading to all corners of her still puppy dog look.

She is so beautiful. Frosting becomes her, as I think it does all dogs.

There is a lesson here — to embrace our own sprouts of gray, too.

Yesterday afternoon I noticed our neighbors taking down their gated trellis that had been there for years. I always loved when the gate was open — as if an invitation to a secret garden.

Standing near the lot line I said to my neighbor, “Oh no, no more gate?”

“No. It was getting rotten and encroaching on the tree.”

“I’ll miss seeing the gate open.”

“It’s getting old just like the rest of us,” she said.

I felt this heaviness as I smiled and walked into my backyard.

I’ll be 52 next month and my neighbor is only a few years older than me.

Wait a minute, I thought. I’m not getting old. I’m choosing to age gracefully.

With that shift in choosing my thoughts I felt lighter and empowered.

And as I sat in stillness with Kylie this morning, oh, what a precious reminder she is of just that.

To embrace all the gifts of aging gracefully.

The gained wisdom.

The freedom to stand in one’s truth.

The slowing down.

The taking in of what really matters.

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