Well the day is coming, in mere days I will turn 70-years-old and with that victory comes defeat but also joy. Almost two years ago I went back to work full-time as the editor of our two valley wide newspapers after not having worked for a few years during the pandemic.
I crawled out from under my bed, (just kidding) and headed to the Lower Mainland for some training in new software and hit the ground walking because I don’t run so well anymore except in my mind or dreams and then most of the time I’m dancing as though no one is watching. I look awesome in my dreams, not to toot my own horn, but I used to be a pretty hip dancer.
I have winched myself back onto that journalism horse, in this case a few different rolling office chairs (insert music for the old grey mare here – although I hide that with some good quality dye every month). My saddle is naturally padded for the long hours of sitting, typing and driving, rolled up my sleeves while refreshing my Canadian Press Style writing after many years of marketing.
So much has changed even in CP style since writing like this many years ago, but thanks to the patience of colleagues and the trusty style books by my side I can honestly say, I’ve relearned quite a bit in this time as an editor again.
Quite honestly I continue to learn something new every day, clinging to fascinating new technology, shortcut advice, and inspiring stories from both seasoned and fresh new creative writers whom I have come to admire. I feel positive that without them as a team, feeding each other information, ideas and insightful newsy tidbits, this experience wouldn’t be half as memorable as it has become for me, a ‘senior’ still enjoying life school and new perspectives as I work my brain to its outer limits.
Look, let’s be real, there are some insults to the injuries of aging to be sure, such as losing benefits, losing sleep and a bit of arthritis and just because I’ve reached what some call the ‘ripe old age’ (doesn’t that sound kind of insulting in itself) ripe old age?
I remember, maybe not as clearly now, what seems like yesterday turning 50, (ah to be so young again) thinking that was so old that I dreaded that birthday and came to realize as my BF told me being two years older, “Het it’s just the same as the day before you turn 50. You’ll see.” She told me about her own experience telling her hubby that she didn’t want to turn 50 in our hometown insisting that he drive her in their motorhome far out of town. He supported her, it was her big 5-0 and drove through the night until he finally had to stop for sleep. She smiled telling me, “And there we were, when I woke up I realized that I felt just the same as when I woke up at home in my own bed the day before. Nothing had really changed except I was a year older. Poor guy was so tired, but he supported me.”
As I turn round the bend (I don’t do that so well either anymore, but I fake it well) my joints creak, ache and I’m slower on the get up and go cycle. I whine a bit about ageism now, but mainly I see myself as in more of being in an observation or reflective mode, embracing new progression and skills like an eager child heading off to school for the first time. The promises of life now come full circle as I watch grown kids and grandkids experiencing their ‘firsts’, enjoying their accomplishments sitting in life’s passenger seat more often myself.
When I move from this chair to another, I may finally write the book, but isn’t life like turning the pages of your own book of life? Time is still ticking, and I have things to do. That's a pretty nice gift to have, the gift of another day.
