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Aging requires us to contemplate and reflect and ultimately act on our needs and desires.

Aging can teach us the value of self-care.

We must do what we want for as long as we can.

Following our bliss helps us stay productive and joyful.

I view age as just a number. Yet I feel delighted when someone reacts with shock when learning of my actual age. At almost 72, reality reminds me I am traversing a narrower life trajectory than 10 years ago. My more finite road accommodates fewer friends. Some who once populated my life detached themselves; others, I gently removed. My acceptance of these friendship losses results from my wisdom gained over many lived decades. I once fought for such friends: I called, made plans, stayed in touch, even when they didn’t. Today, I let them go. There just aren’t enough hours in my week to concentrate on those who have withered away from me. While I still appreciate them, honestly, I am just full. Full of those in the past who showed a cruel side of themselves that I ignored.

I’m patient, loyal, and understanding until I am not. Then, the rope that has held the friendship boat in place is permanently cut. With detachment, I peacefully watch my loyalty and devotion float away. I am fine with this permanent separation. Today, I have fewer friends, but they have permanent residency within my heart. A positive result of my aging journey.

I gracefully accept my wrinkles; my non-botoxed forehead; my jellied arms and gravity-sagging breasts and bottom. I have proudly earned every candle on my next birthday cake. I am grateful for each day I am given. When someone asks me how my day is going, I say, “I woke up today, so it’s already a wonderful day.”

Through aging, I have learned about self-care and self-love, which, for years, meant selfish to me, but I was wrong. I must take care of myself and fulfill my own needs before I can help others. I am learning to create healthy boundaries and to say "no" more. I am still a work-in-progress in this endeavor, for my default is to worry about others more than myself, to help, even when I am exhausted or feeling unwell. But I have come a long way from believing my mother‘s mantra that “mothers of only sons are selfish.” (I have three sons). I worked through this misguided adage through deep introspection. Barbara, I reflected, you are the opposite of selfish. In fact, my dear therapist once reminded me, “I don’t think you can be selfish even if you tried.” And, so, I have embraced "self-care" and my alone-time trips to the ice cream store for my favorite waffle cone, filled with a double scoop of salty caramel truffle. I enjoy an occasional facial. Frequently, I go to a nearby coffeehouse for my special four-shot Americano instead of making my own cup at home. All definitions of my own self-care.

In my seventh decade, I don’t wait for others to fulfill my needs. They can’t read my mind. Even my husband of almost 50 years doesn’t always know what I require, but we accept that our personal requirements are different. The beauty of aging with someone I love dearly is that I acknowledge what brought us together, and at the same time, I accept our differences. My happy place is in my office, writing, or reading outside in my swing chair. I am blissful when I am with my grandchildren and babysitting to help our children. I adore cooking again, after a hiatus of about eight years. I get great joy from choosing my colorful clothing every day, even if I have no plans to leave my house.

Paul enjoys these activities as well ( not reading or clothing selection), but his preferences are slightly different. He might not want to babysit for hours, but he adores his time with the little ones. He prefers to go out for a meal instead of having me work hard in the kitchen, despite my desire to do so. He is better at taking care of his own needs, determining when he has had enough and needs to detach from others. Sometimes he shakes his head at me as I race around the kitchen, while I shake my head at him while he plays games on his iPad. We accept each other, warts and all, through our devotion to each other. Another gift of aging together.

Paul has guided me in standing up for myself. When we disagree, I explain my position. In my family of origin, it was easier to acquiesce rather than speak up. Paul has helped me find my voice, another reward of growing old together. When our youngest was in high school, I surprised Paul with my unique desire: “I want to return to graduate school for my doctorate.” I sensed this was a challenge for us since we had one son about to go to college and two others in college, but I was determined. Paul suggested that I wait until Brian graduated from college in four years.

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“I’ll have no brain cells left by then,” I responded. “But it’s so expensive,” and, of course, his retort was valid.

But I found a way. I applied; I submitted my application; I was accepted; I took out loans. I filed my dissertation on my 50th birthday, my ultimate act of self-care! Logically, the timing was wrong; financially, it provided stress, but we survived, and I flourished. And that was almost 22 years ago!

Aging reminds me that if I want to do something now, I must do it, for I ask myself, “If not now, when?” Take a trip? Visit a friend? Wear my new shoes instead of saving them for a special occasion? The special occasion is today. I give myself permission to stop reading a book I am not enjoying. I let go of my plans to go to the market so I can play games with a grandchild. Very soon, they will outgrow such activities with their Nana.

Some friends my age have become ill, incapacitated, limited, or just exhausted. With such physical changes, I see their worlds shrink. I am fighting against time as well to do what I want for as long as I can. We will travel until we cannot. I also reorganize my daily priorities depending on my desires; for example, I smile at the adage, “Life is too short; eat dessert first.” So, occasionally, I seek the cream cheese frosted carrot cake for lunch or my favorite farmers market blueberry scone.

Yes, one day I will grow very old, but not today.

© Psychology Today