The “cost” of aging…

For some reason I’ve felt my age this past week.  It’s far more than the effects of the political turmoil; it’s far more than my chronological age; it’s far more than spending winter in the Northeast.  With ages comes wisdom, thank goodness.  With wisdom comes disillusionment and my mental head shaking threatens to give me arthritis.  So, yes, my pronouncement is mostly tongue-in-cheek; however, my eyes tend to roll more often as time goes on.  This is why I don’t play poker.  My feelings are usually evident.

Example #1:  Now that I feel comfortable in expressing my opinions as a true adult, political correctness and lack of civil discourse have annihilated my desire to do so.  It seems much of our society is on the attack and if an individual doesn’t agree, an “attack” ensues.  This week, on FB, I made the “mistake” of commenting on a post which shared a video clip of a celebration in which a famous athlete was busily groping a woman’s breasts while in the throes of celebrating a victory.  I commented that I thought it was disappointing for kids to see that behavior and think it was okay to do.  Yes, I was raised to be modest; yes, I was raised to respect myself; yes, I was raised to think such a display was unnecessary.  It’s my opinion and, last I knew, I’m entitled to it.

Well, I had my opinion dissected, whirled in a blender, and thrown in my face.  There was a comment, this is a paraphrase, that belied the fact that “white men” can’t behave like “white men” without getting into trouble.  WTF?  My comment was “colorless.”  Race and/or ethnicity were never mentioned.  Then I was ripped a new one and told the man wasn’t groping just anyone, he was groping his girlfriend.  I dared to comment that it was unfortunate she didn’t have more respect for herself.  I was then informed that she is “a model for tits” so she didn’t have a problem with it (again, a paraphrase).  Not understanding what “a model for tits” does/is, I chose not to comment further.  In fact, I deleted my comment altogether.  I’m sure the word “tits” was used derisively in relation to my use of the term “breasts.”  So I guess even my vocabulary is “offensive.”

I’m not a prude but I also don’t subscribe to this generation’s lifestyle that is much “looser” than when I grew up.  As a young woman, I didn’t exist to show off my wares (and I had them then!) nor did I live to “get with” loads of guys.  It’s a generational thing and I don’t have to like or agree with it.  It’s hard enough to have it thrust at me through all types of media each day.

Example #2:  As times goes on, I find myself sitting in the waiting rooms of doctor’s offices far more often than I would like.  Granted half of the time I’m with my elderly parent, but I have many, many appointments of my own.  In fact, as far back as I’m able to remember, I’ve had loads of weird medical events and illnesses.  Add to it that I competed in sports during a time when women’s sports were not recognized as legit and we received no treatment for any injuries and never sat out.  And the fact that I’ve spent a large part of my adult life being overweight contributes to my situation.  I may be many things, but being stupid isn’t one of them.  My gradual descent into inactivity is the biggest regret of my life.    However, some of that was out of my control.

Suffice it to say I understand why I need appointments.  Lately I’ve had a naggingly sore area on the top of my ear.  I’ve put off making an appointment with the dermatologist.  Over the last few days I’ve noticed a freckle on my leg that has deepened in color.  I’m fully aware of what is most likely happening.  Yes, exposure to the sun was a large part of my young life.  Heck, I spent ten different summers teaching tennis outdoors.  I have a fair complexion and I do tan but burn first.  I still enjoy the sun all summer.  It will be difficult for me to restrict my time in it.  I have a feeling that will be the recommendation.  Should I wait for more problem areas to appear?  Nah, On Monday I will phone for an appointment.  Just because my body is aging doesn’t mean my attitude has to keep pace.  I might think like a curmudgeon in some respects but my inner child is still alive and well.  The price of humor will never be an expense too high for me.

About thequarryschild

A self-described forensic junkie, Beth Anderson spends her days shaping young minds to ask critical questions and wonder “whodunit.” Beth resides in the Capital District of New York and spends her free time reading and solving the great mysteries. Her love of swimming, tennis and sports provides the basis for one of the lead characters in her new book The Quarry’s Child. Beth is one of the founding members of the Upper Hudson Valley Chapter of Sisters in Crime (aka Mavens of Mayhem), a graduate of the FBI Citizens Academy, a survivor of a visit to an active aircraft carrier while it was at sea, and a published poet in Soundings, a literary journal. Beth continues to instill a love for mystery fiction in her students as she has for over twenty years. Photo credit: Quinn Mulvey
This entry was posted in Disillusionment, frustration, humor, life lessons and tagged , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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