Glaringly Aware...My 45-Year-Old Self

Turning 45 this year made me glaringly  aware of several things.  Treating myself to an hour of peaceful yoga made me glaringly aware of how very inflexible I’ve become.  Poses that once came easily, were now stiff and cumbersome…not a single inch wasn’t sore days later. Once home, I attempted a manicure and became glaringly aware, once more.  Distances that were once clear, now are fuzzy.  I couldn’t get far enough away from my nails to see the polish clearly. With a huge sigh, surrendering into Tim’s reading glasses, I was both bummed and relieved to see close up once more.  Days later, once the yoga burn subsided, I tried my hand at a long dusty workout video and was glaringly aware that I must now follow the gal in the back that features the modified version. Ugg.

‘I will not go quietly into that good night’ keeps ringing in my 45-year-old ears. (which I’m glaringly aware no longer hear as well as my younger ears).  Supposing the alternative to aging is much worse, I must hunker down and fight. Clearly yoga needs to be a regular thing for me…twice a year just isn’t cutting it.  And, I suppose that the dust will need to be cleared from my workout videos for good. I’ll keep my gaze on that sweet and smiley gal in the back until I can hang tough with the frontliners.   AND, if I must wear readers now, I will be sporting the absolute cutest pair I can find!   You will find me raging, raging ‘against the dying of the light’!