Essence of Aging 👵🏼

Jan 9

Essence of is a monthly editorial deep dive into meaning.

This digital curation of words, imagery, and sound is an invitation to pull the curtain back on the magic, miracles, and mysteries embedded in everyday life.

Join the Journey

Dear friend,

I chipped my front tooth in November. It's the tiniest little chip, barely detectable. But in the weeks that followed, the tip of my tongue kept finding that newly-revealed rough edge.

Each time I grazed over it, I was bombarded by the strange thought that I couldn't get that part of my body back, ever. Along with my gray hairs that have been sprouting up since 18 and the subtle elevens forming between my brows, the minuscule chip in my front tooth set into motion the slightly morbid realization that my body is ~so very temporary~, and changing in ways I can't fully control.

I'm a youthful 26, with many good years ahead of me and an optimistic glow. But as these first few touches of time grace me, I'm beginning to think about aging.

I'm witnessing that ways I'm already trying to keep myself glued together (with an edge of desperation that I'm embarrassed to admit). Retinol serums, gua sha stones, chemical peels, and even tape. I'm doing all these things in an attempt to postpone the inevitable, because I fear what the passing of time (and they way it marks my body) may mean about me.

I feel afraid I will one day become invisible.

I feel afraid I will become useless.

I feel afraid I will look in the mirror and see regret sown into the lines on my face.

But when I step back from the magnified mirror, and turn the lights down to a candlelit glow, I can see that these thoughts are not my own. I can see that they were planted there in my youth by magazine covers and tv commercials and older people who bought and sold the same lies.

In that soft light, I see beyond the skin and instead, look right into my eyes. There, I see myself for what I am. The honey-like sweetness within; the effervescence of the soul; the timeless Love that I am.

And from that identity, the journey of aging, which I get to embark on for the next eight decades of my life, is full of possibilities.

Although my contemplation of aging is drastically premature, it feels both comforting and empowering to prepare myself for the coming changes that will unfold in countless layers. This way I can move into my golden years consciously; make the most of them.

Aren't we all just elders in training, anyways?

Aging is an ego death.

In my current, youthful flirtation with it, aging is killing the part of me that believes my contribution to the present moment, to the wold at large, stems from what my body can bring to the table. It's the kind of death that offers liberation; that serves as a doorway to a new chapter with new capabilities.

They say that as the years pass by, the veil between the physical realm and the spiritual realm (or whatever lies beyond) thins—right along with our skin. As we swirl closer and closer to the other side, deep truths and spiritual wisdom become more available.

Beyond this spiritual advantage that makes elders powerful guides, they simply have more data. They know the living history of our planet and our people. They carry the collective memory and can recognize patterns as history inevitably repeats itself. They have exchanged a lifetime of experience for a well of insight, making them invaluable resources.

I think of the wisdom I've gleamed from elders: sitting in my grandmother's lap at six in the morning, while she taught me how to sew and stroked my curls; taught me how to move my idle hands when the rest of the world was asleep.

There's Uncle Whit, my jungle friend, whose stories of adventure and of what happens when you pursue a vision transported me to a new version of myself.

I think of Kitty, a woman who built her entire, stunning life based off of intuitive guidance. She was my Airbnb host in Santa Cruz last spring. She came by to show me how to use the stovetop and ended up staying for three hours, telling stories and introducing me to ancient yogis through a deeply-felt meditation.

Beneath a sweeping wave of gratitude, my blood boils as I zoom out and gleam the way we have written elders off as confused, stubborn, sedentary creatures who spend their days in plushy recliner chairs, watching Judge Judy from behind a TV tray.

I want to see representations of vibrant elders, like those who I have known, like Iris Apfel. Growing old is truly an act of flowering, not decaying.

I am learning that age will not change the most important things about me. If anything, it will bring out what makes me wonderful even more.

So I won't be racing against this biological clock I've been warned of. Because being a giver of life isn't something that stops once my last egg has been released. Being beautiful has never been about the surface layer of my skin. Being useful has never been about what weight my bones can bear.

The soul never expires.

Photo by Josh Oliver

In the humbling where our minds and bodies begin to come a bit undone, we are left with what lasts through all of life's changes; heart and soul—and aging grants us with a greater opportunity to live and lead from that place. This is the gift. Remembering what is really real.

But I don't want to wait until my body pushes me into this realization. I want the well of wisdom now. I want the embodied gratitude now; the reverence for the journey of life.

So here at 26, I am thankful for my delicate lines and sporadically creaky knees; for that rough edge on my front tooth. They remind me what lasts and what does not, and how to invest my energy accordingly.

“Ancient people believed that a village is only as healthy as how you treat your elders,” my 76 year-old friend Whit said. I agree. So I will be looking to elders more adamantly; meeting their eyes with greater intention; listening longer. I will be dreaming about what kind of elder I will become. I will be laughing without restrain, letting my smile lines become canyons of joy with time.