until the morning I woke up at 67 plus about 333 days, that I realized that age is just a number. The designation of age gives us a benchmark of when we can start school, get a driver’s license, know more than our parents, should be married and have children, should/could retire…and the biggie….begin wondering if I’m close to the age when I’m expected to die.

I recently experienced a short bout of depression. I recognized the signs when I started snacking a lot, wanted to only sit in the recliner and read or do New York Times crosswords and binge watch Britbox TV. I had no desire to leave the house for ANYTHING and found I could only communicate via text message. I had moved negative fears and experiences into my house and gave them a bed and 3 meals a day plus snacks! The thing was.. I knew exactly what the catalyst was for my mental burial but I was incapable of working through what was just beyond my grasp…because I could not stop ruminating.

I moved through the fear/sadness and with it came a knowing of how much damage I can do to myself by thinking and trying to control each moment. (my moments and other peoples moments). Attempting to live by a planned outline of my life….which is impossible. It is ridiculous to drive with one foot hovering over the brake. The enlightenment in my THINKING about what is expected at this age (pencil in a number) came by realizing that my thoughts about aging are legends of someone else’s history or the lips of society telling me how I’m supposed to live and think…fears are a hammer and nail.