I’ve lived a quiet, lonely life. Well, right until my new neighbour moved in. Patricia did not wait for an invitation before bursting through my door to introduce herself.
I wasn’t listening to her, but this did not deter her as she blabbered on. See, I had mastered the art of zoning out on people, disguised by the fake smile forever plastered on my lips, and the practiced engrossed stare in my eyes.
I felt like a failure you see, and my misery did not love company. Pat, as she preferred to be called, had an abundance of youthful exuberance. Why wouldn’t she? She was not old as I was, with nothing to show for it. I felt like an absolute failure at 49 years of age.
If only I had…
I shook myself out of my reverie. The past could not be undone and there was no point reliving every opportunity I had missed.
At 30, I felt too old to achieve the plans I dreamed up. At 40, I still held on to the same excuse. I was simply too old. In three weeks, I would be turning 50 and I still had the same freaking excuse. I felt too old to do anything.
The concept of being or feeling old is a merry-go-round chase with no win in sight. It is an open prison that keeps you bound, even without chains, and convinces you not to attempt to attain freedom. I knew this. And right then, it held me firmly in its shackles.
But little by little, Pat began wearing down all the defenses I had built up around me. Unconsciously, I started to look forward to the thunderous knock on my door signalling she was home or the off-key singing whenever she passed by. For a loner like me who had never married or had children, it was those little things that made me smile.
Pat had set herself on an insane and very impossible task to help me find my passion. Whenever she brought up a new activity for me to try, I refused adamantly of course, because after all, I was too old to chase a passion or any activity at all. And besides, there were younger ones who were far better than I could ever be. But she kept trying, never giving up.
That day, she told me that it was going to be different as she had a slideshow presentation for me. I refused. And as usual, Pat paid no mind to me, proceeding to set it up in my living room.
It began with a list of names, names I was quite familiar with but didn’t quite know their story. There was Stan Lee, the godfather of Marvel Comics, who created the first The Fantastic Four comics at almost 40 years of age, and whose work has been dominating the box office decades later. There was Henry Ford, whose model released when he was 45 years, found immense success and established a successful brand.
As the names rolled on, tears brimmed in my eyes for all the wasted years. I never knew Charles Darwin, the father of evolution published the evergreen piece that shaped the subject of evolution at 50 years of age. Nor did I know that the famous chef Julia Child published her first cookbook at 50 years old, and became the first celebrity chef inducted into the Culinary Institute of America’s Hall of Fame!
They seemed to be unending. Tina and Nina Zagat, Ray Kroc, Vera Wang, Harland Sanders, Sam Walton, Martha Stewart…to mention but a few. I screamed at this point and begged her to make it stop. Pat hurried to my side and enveloped me in a warm hug. I sobbed as I held her close. And I felt a reborn take place.
Today I am turning 50, and I’ll be damned if I leave without making the most of my time here on earth. I now understand that being too old is a concept that is all in your head. I have realized that we are never too old to chase our dreams.
Hopefully, you can read this and begin to break boundaries because others before you, who were even older, have set the path for you to follow. And you should, so that future generations can look up to you too, as a shining light to guide them and prove that age is just a number.
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Love,
Diane.
