Yesterday I said to my husband "I'm thinking about dying my hair." His response was "ok". This just didn't seem to be enough of a response for me, which is funny when you think about it, because, what's that all about?! In an effort to invoke more of a response with something I would deem "substance", I said "Because I think my grey hair makes me look old.". His response was " Jen, you ARE old.". Not the substance I was looking for, but it was honest (I always have a great deal of respect for my husband and others that are comfortable enough in themselves to be bluntly honest rather than sugar coat things to make them more palatable.).
I pondered on this for a bit. I am old. I am 52 and will turn 53 in a few months. I am 12 years older than my grandparents were when I was born. I think of age with regards to respect and wisdom when I think of becoming elder (in the realm of my work), and yet somehow "old" has a different vibe to it, that is not super delightful.
So I pondered on this for a bit. I went down the roads paved with societal pressures, the industry of enetertainment and fashion and cosmetics, which all demand that I fill in my winkles, coat my hair on a regular basis with chemicals, and wear things that create a facade that I am not aging.
And then I took a view from a different vantage point.
The elders are the wisdom keepers. They are the folk of the old ways (in my case, only going back (at least in this liftime) to the 1970s.). They are the people who have slowed down, because their bodies have, but also because at some point, they realized the strange nonsense of busy. In the field of herbalism, they are the folks who's works I turn to when I am looking up information about the gallbladder or migraines, or a gazillion other things that their years have lent them experiences that I don't yet have. Pretty much everything I have learned in my work (and probably in life) has come from elders. Sure, i put my own spin on things and add my own bits and bobbles here and there, but it was from them that the seeds were planted and the fires were birthed.
Somedays I loose sight of this.
More often, I look into the mirror or at a photograph of myself and instead of seeing an aging woman, I see a woman becoming.
Just what that "becoming" is, I cannot really say. I dont think it has words to accurately describe it. It is more of a feeling.........well....really not even that....it is a state of being - a state I believe I have been trying to get to for a long time.......
a place where I can be content in my wisdom, confident in my presence, and less and less worried about how I present to others. THIS is what becoming elder truly means. A stepping into oneself fully (although we never really did step out, so it is more like a bringing forward) that appears to be coaxed into emergence by the tick of the tock on the clock that says "you are in the autumn of your years", and we realize we may not have that much time left, and why are we bothering to worry about this and that and grey hair and wrinkles..........go sit in the sun...go talk with the trees.....walk through the woods and the cemeteries with no agenda, just to feel how good it feels to move and feel the sun and the wind through your being..........and there really is no need to cover up (although we can embellish and accentuate, which might sound like the same thing to some folks, but it's entirely and completely different.).
Becoming elder is an honor and we (and I) would do so much better to remember this.
Carry on......
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