I really need to stretch more after belly dancing. This morning I woke up with my knee bent so that it was the same height as my head. And now my back is bitching at me.
I fear getting old. I fear it for my vanity’s sake, but mostly I fear it for my mobility’s sake. Sometimes I feel age stalking me like a jailer, waiting to take away my ability to walk far, or climb, or dance or bend.
My mother was only ten years older than I am now when she woke up that one morning and could not move her arm. She spent the next eighteen years of her life lying on the floor, or lying on her bed. Oh, she could go to work. She could go on vacation. But she couldn’t ride a bus without going into spasm. She had to rest after grocery shopping. Vacuuming hurt. She spent about 16 hours a day lying down.
She almost always got up to make dinner. I think in her mind that made it okay. In my mind it was not okay. It was not okay at all.
I fear that. I fear the narrowing of my horizons until I consider getting up to make dinner a benchmark of success. And so I stretch and I walk and I dance, keeping immobility at bay.
Sorry, that was a little heavy. Anybody else got a confession?