Several years ago I attended a writing program with a woman who said an older friend gave her this meaningful advice: “who you are at 50 is who you’ll be at 80.” I’ve thought about that idea for years but it hasn’t settled into any kind of action until now.
If I want to be curious, engaged, and hopeful at 80, I’d better be those things at 50. I’m four months shy of my 48th birthday, so I have a little time to get to what 50 will mean for me, but each day needs to be a step in that direction.
One way I tend my curiosity is by watching food shows. I’ve fallen in love with making quick pickles from Persian cucumbers, I switched from coffee to black tea in the morning and haven’t noticed any difference (except for less jitters), and I’ve learned the profound satisfaction of making my own bread. I’m also the queen of impromptu road trips—give me a cool drink and a back road and some small town antique shops or bookstores, and I’m in heaven. I love seeing the ways other people live and have lived. It reminds me that we are all here in magically borrowed time and that no day should be wasted.
I’m engaged and hopeful (which can feel paradoxical), but the truth is that no matter how much the world seems to burn, there is joy everywhere. Yesterday, while helping my husband move into his new office, we ran a few errands to get needed items to complete the space. Along the way, we heard a happy child singing before we saw him. A white car passed us and we saw the head of a little boy jubilantly leaning out the window, throwing his song into the wind. No matter how annoying parts of our day had been, that moment is still making me smile. And being engaged doesn’t just mean following politics or reading several Substacks a week—though I do that on occasion—it is about intentional attention. I am trying to be more engaged in the individual moment so that, at 80, I don’t live inside a memory of who I was or a fear of what will be.
Of course, at 50 I’d like to be a little happier with my physical self than I am at 47 because, at 80, I’d like to not be thinking about it anymore. I can’t begin to know the number of hours of life I’ve wasted worrying about my appearance. My weight. My Kewpie doll knees, round cheeks, heavy thighs, and so many other things. I love who I am. I love that I think about others and try to love as many people as I can because that is what I feel I was put here to do. It’s why I teach. I can’t think of a better way to show love than to teach someone a skill that will make their lives easier. I love that I know how to rest, how to put my anxious heart at ease with a good book, a cup of tea, or a ride in the Jeep with my handsome husband. What I don’t love is my preoccupation with my body and its size, its flaws, its aches and pains.
So, at 80, I want to have left those concerns far far behind me. I want to move through each day strong and confident and physically comfortable without the daily, sometimes hourly, intrusive thoughts about what should be better.
I’m starting a journey this week to reach that goal so that who I am at 50 is who I want to be at 80. That journey means more movement, healthier eating, and less negative self-talk. I’m not sure what every day will look like, but I can see two versions of my 80 year old self—one who does not take these steps and one who does. I’m working for the latter version so that I can channel all my energy and joy, my curiosity and engagement and hope, into loving each day and thinking less about myself.
Wish me luck.
Shannon Carriger 