My Secret

GUEST POST by MARGIE CAMPBELL

I’m going to tell you a secret. It isn’t something that I tell readily these days. It is something that has been a burden lately. Perhaps if I share it with you, I’ll become more comfortable with it. So, what is it that causes you so much concern, you may well ask? Okay, here it is—some months ago I turned 70. Whew! Now that’s out, I’m not sure it has lessened my angst. But there it is. Now, remember it is a secret—just between us. 😉

The author at 3 days with her father

The author on her first birthday with her paternal grandfather and his third wife

Why am I loath to confess? It isn’t so much vanity for me. I refuse to accept all the bullsplat that people spill when they learn a person’s age. A woman’s age in particular. “Oh, you look good for your age,” is equivalent to “She has a great personality” in answer to “Is she pretty?”

However true or sincere the speaker may be, it is still a bit of “I see you as an old woman.” That carries a lot of negative vibes.

The author on her 5th Birthday 

Entering a new decade, can be a time to pause and reflect. I remember when I was much younger wondering whether, after a certain age, people wake up in the morning wondering, “Is this the day I die?” I haven’t gone quite that far, but I am standing closer to that reflection.

I started reading obituaries closely and paying particular attention to the ages. I had occasional thoughts of, “If I am closer to death now, what’s the use of doing anything?”  Some days, I regret that I have so few years left, and I mope around thinking of all the things I should have done and now maybe won’t have time to accomplish.

Other days, I thought I should get busy and do as much as I can in the time I have left. I usually end up following my own adage, “Don’t do today what you can put off until tomorrow.” Regrettably, I have followed that way too much over the years.

So here, in short form, are some regrets:

• I have yet to write a best-selling book.

• I didn’t get a Ph.D. I stopped with a Master’s [should that be Mistress’s?]

• I didn’t learn to play an instrument. [Does a ‘hunt and peck’ on the piano count for anything?]

• I can’t have another baby—a fur baby that is. I would love a dog with waggy tail and licky tongue, but what would happen if it outlived us?

I find that I do have a different relationship with time. As my mother aged she would say that she didn’t feel whatever her age was. I thought that was just one of her idiosyncrasies. Now, I understand what she meant.

I don’t feel 70, however that is supposed to feel.

I still have a puckish sense of humor. I love puns, the more odious the better. I enjoy dressing boho and wearing my hair in the revived shag. I enjoy spending time with friends and watching chick flicks. I truly delight in my relationship with my spouse of 36 years. Maybe I shouldn’t expect to feel anything but just be the self I have always been from the beginning.

I’m not denying that there have been changes. The skin on my arms is looking crepe-y. My hair is thinning out, and I’m growing a “beard.” I tire more easily. I could go on, but it doesn’t add anything to my confession.

Making this confession has been a bit of a relief but has also reminded me that in a very little time I will be another year older. Oh, crap, here we go again.

I have been “writing” since I could first hold a pencil. I would fill lines with squiggles thinking that could convey my ideas to the world. As I grew, so did my interest in writing.  I have a degree in creative writing and a Master’s in English (tech writing specialty). I am retired from teaching all types of writing as an adjunct at community colleges in VA, MD, Ohio, and WV.