Some birthday words
I’ve been trying to notice things more, particularly the shape of trees, the color of the sky. I know I don’t know nearly enough words for the color blue. Today’s sky was, I think, a chalky blue, with barely there wisps of clouds. The breezes were nippy, rather than biting, though they had no particular smell except when I passed one house where someone was doing laundry. As I walked back from my birthday lunch at Souper Girl, I kept wanting to crisscross the street so I could stay in the sun. I walked leading with my chin, which perhaps made me look determined, but really it was my walking version of basking in the warmth.
So you’ve heard people say, I’m sure, that age is only a statistic. But that’s not true, and who’d want it to be true, anyway? Age is, I think, a sense of awareness with the hope that as we age we become more aware of what’s around us, of what’s inside us. Of what’s important, of who’s important. Of what we need versus what we want. Of our triggers, our motivators, our hot spots. Of what we still need to articulate for ourselves, and of what we need to stop talking about once and for all.
Age is knowing that sometimes it’s important to be able to call the sky by its proper name even if it may take you a few more years to find all the words.