This probably happened in seventh grade. I began to sense that you are what you have.
It started with clothes. If I didn’t have the right clothes, I could not hope to be popular. I was measured from head to toe. If my shoes were not the most fashionable, I would not be quite cool enough. It went on and on from there.
Medals from swimming distinguished me from my peers. Medals represented my athletic status.
It then went to how many degrees I had and from what schools and in what disciplines.
Titles establish status. I had to at least reach the level of president. And then I needed to make enough money to be considered a millionaire.
Then one day, these achievements and recognitions started fading away. I started recognizing it in my own case in my early seventies. And one day during that time, I started feeling like an old piece of wood that had been stripped of all its varnish.
It dawned on me: I was alone. It was just me.
I reflected on why my titles and positions had faded away. I realized it was time this happens, but I also thought about why some of them ended. You hurt about some things. You wish you could take them back and improve on them. Yet, it stands as it is.
It’s hard. But, there is one redeeming quality to it. There are no more masks to wear that pretend to be your identity. It’s just you now. Is that more important than your pretend identities? Of course.
I think I’ve always been curious about who the real me is.
So what of life now?
I change the sheets. I wash them. I fold them up and put them away. I wash off the dishes, put them in the dishwasher, take them out, put them away. Buy groceries, cook breakfast eggs, and take out the garbage.
Am I happy? Yes, I’m happy, but am I happier than I am lonely?
I don’t think much about being lonely, but lately I’ve been surprised at the number 75.
I can’t escape the hard fact that I am 75. That crept up on me. But, I’m not bothered by it, because psychologically the brain doesn’t recognize its own age.
When people look at me, they see age. When I (my brain) look out at the world, I don’t sense my age. To me I’ve always been the same age (except the day I got my driver’s license.)
Life is an illusion that way. The truth is not the truth.
What would I rather be, the outside shell that is my skin and bone that eventually feels every bump and bruise, or my brain that has stayed the same no matter what age I happen to be?
There is no answer. Best, you accept what is, move on, and live big.