Loving what age is doing to my . . .
I love getting older.
LOVE IT.
Okay. Lots of yous probably are saying that’s a big old story.
I’m telling the truth. Swear.
Maybe not the entire pie plate of pecan truth but a big part of it.
No, I don’t like what age is doing to my hair, my skin, my teeth or my knee caps. (Or the skin surrounding my knee caps.)
But I love what it is doing to my mind. Well, at least the times my mind is not obsessing about my aging body.
I deal with things much better.
Like when I was locked out the house the other day, and the only known key was with my husband in Atlanta — I announced to the four men painting our house. “I’m very angry.”
This is when a flicker of fear dashed across the chief painter’s eyes like he was toying with the idea to run. But I thought to my little bitty self. Jamie. Be a big girl. Don’t thrown a tantrum in front of these innocent painters just because you want to lay down on the grass, scream to the top of your lungs how your children lost the hidden key. Yes, kicking and screaming in a joyful noise to the Lord punctuated with the most colorful sentence enhancers would not be a mature thing to do.
No. All I said was “Eric. I am very angry.” And I got in my car and went to my scheduled 2 p.m. meeting with my web designer.
And told him how angry I was as well.
See I’m growing.
I only state my emotions rather than violently acting them out.
Just like today when I got to the pool just in time for an hour workout. The hour workout I’d wanted to do Monday but had to cancel because other things took precedence.
Slowly walking up to Andy to hand him my two dollars, I stopped to chat a bit. Why not? I had time to chat and time for my long awaited workout.
Entering the women’s locker room inhaling that familiar smell of who-knows-what, I sat my bag down on a bench.
And it hit me.
I didn’t pack my swimsuit.
No. While I was at standing on the concrete floor of the women’s locker room looking for my suit, it was about two and a half miles away in my bathroom.
Did I vent, “Jamie how could you? On the day you were going to have an hour long swim.”
No. I merely said, “Pooh. I can’t believe I forgot my swimsuit.”
A women overheard and nodded toward her preschool-age granddaughter. “Sorry I can’t help you out. I’ve only got one in her size.”
Honestly I was about to see if anyone would notice if I strolled out on the pool deck hanging out of a 4T suit.
Maybe they would just think it was a thong?
No. I calmly collected myself. Road home. Picked up my suit and came back and swam for a half an hour.
No mental castigating.
So while my rear might be dragging my amygdala is rockin.
What about you? Are you emotions improving with age?
