It happened on an ordinary Tuesday.
I was filling out a form. I don’t even remember what it was for.
There was a box for age and I wrote 72, the way I’ve written it for months now without thinking twice.
Then somewhere below that was a category.
Senior citizen.
I looked at it for a moment.
Senior citizen.
Technically, that’s me.
But somehow the words didn’t match the person sitting there filling out the form.
I’d taught two movement classes that morning. I’d done my Contracted Stretching. I felt good. Strong. Nothing particularly senior-citizen-ish was happening as far as I could tell.
And yet there it was.
72. Senior citizen.
Both completely accurate.
And somehow not.
It Wasn’t a Crisis
I didn’t suddenly stare into the mirror and discover an old man looking back.
Nothing changed.
I wasn’t upset.
It was just this strange little disconnect between a number and an experience.
Because I don’t feel the way I once imagined 72 would feel.
Maybe that’s the interesting part.
When you’re 40, you have some picture in your head of what 72 looks like.
I certainly did.
Then you get here and discover you’re still you.
That surprised me.
At 55, I Actually Felt Older
That’s the really strange part.
At 55, I had type 2 diabetes.
I was carrying 98 extra pounds.
My feet hurt. My knee hurt. My back hurt. My shoulder hurt.
Several surgeries were being discussed.
I was seventeen years younger than I am today.
But in many ways, I felt considerably older.
Today I move better.
I feel stronger.
I have more energy.
I teach.
I walk.
I get on the floor and back up without giving it much thought.
So what exactly is old?
I’m not sure anymore.
I’m Not Going to Tell You Age Is Just a Number
That’s something you’d put on a coffee mug.
Age isn’t just a number.
I’m 72.
I’ve lived 72 years.
That’s real.
There are things about my body that are different from when I was 30, and pretending otherwise would be silly.
But I’ve started thinking that maybe the number tells us considerably less than we think it does.
It tells you how long you’ve been here.
It doesn’t tell you what you’ve done with those years.
It doesn’t tell you whether you’re strong.
Whether you’re curious.
Whether you can get off the floor.
Whether you still fall in love with things.
Whether you’re learning something new.
Whether you’re useful.
Whether you’re having fun.
Whether you’re looking forward to tomorrow.
A birth date can’t tell you any of that.
So I Checked the Box
Because it was technically correct.
Senior citizen.
Yep.
That’s me.
Then I went back to teaching my afternoon class.
But the thought stayed with me.
The strange experience of being handed a label that was true and inaccurate at exactly the same time.
True about the years.
Not particularly useful for describing the person living them.
I don’t know exactly what to do with that thought yet.
I’m still turning it over.
I just know it was worth telling you about.