Grokking It

Once in awhile, sometimes from out of the blue, others after working through a problem, I have moments I used to call epiphanies. They come when I suddenly know something so deeply that it's a part of me. I think today a better term comes from the book 'Stranger in a Strange Land'-- I grok it. Although I am always a little uncertain when I use a science fiction term, since it is not a genre I am familiar with generally. I did read this book and liked this word. It is a verb and means a knowledge and understanding that goes to the core being and lets you not only see something but use it. In the book, it meant to drink and refers to taking into yourself an understanding that becomes part of who you are.

Epiphany is a good word too but grok is better for what I feel right now. One could have an epiphany, and it might not impact their daily life. It could be a momentary awakening that sank back into forgetfulness. A person could know something but not use it for themselves. The ah-ha moment could end being nothing. But if I grok it, it means it went deep within and became part of who I am.

When I was a young woman, I was sitting in Mass with a baby on my lap and a toddler beside me. I could feel the length of my hair against the wood of the pew when I moved. My body and spirit were strong. I had borne two children, was raising them and knew how to do that. I felt female power surge through me with who I was and what my role, at that time, was in life. I knew what it meant to be a woman in the purest essence of that word. I savored the moment. I also knew it was but a moment but one to live fully.

Although I have had such moments since then, the one now is the most like that earlier time. As I grokked what it meant to me to be an old woman, I saw it as the coming into the power of the old woman, the crone, the wise one. A woman who has raised her children, has lived a life, and could now look back on that or take what she has learned and look ahead. Does old have to be weak? Must it mean limitations? It means some of that but more.

Some of what I am thinking was added onto when I was waiting to pay for entrance to the renaissance faire. A woman walked down the line saying, if anyone had exact change, she could take their money. I had seen printed that seniors got in for a lesser rate but didn't see where they defined senior. Experience has shown me it can be anywhere from 50 to 65. I asked and she made a joke out of it. She asked what would I call senior?

"I don't know," I said. "I guess for a lower admittance fee, I'd make it 65, but it varies."

"If you are willing to call yourself a senior," she said laughing and nodding to the others standing there, "you may have the lower rate."

I laughed too. "What else could I call myself at almost 63?"

She took the lower rate. As I thought on it later, I knew she thought I'd be embarrassed to call myself a senior. Why should that have been? Has it been a thing to be ashamed of in our culture? Is being twenty all that is supposed to be good and from then on it's downhill?

What I have grokked is that being old is what I am and being old is not only okay but a rich time of life. It's not a time to give up on being vital, sexy, attractive, active, excited about life. It's not a time to quit learning new things, Not a time to say I always did it that way and cannot change. It is instead a time to be like that sunset from the other night. A sunset marks the beginning of the end of a day, but it can be with a lush fullness, a promise of richness and going out can be with a bang, not a whimper.

I am making choices today and in the next few years that will determine how I live as an old woman. I see these as part of grokking old age with a new paradigm. I don't want to accept someone else's definitions for what old means, nor do I want to deny being old. I instead want to make the most of the last cycle of life as I did with the time when I was a young woman full of the spirit of being young.

Yes, I could for awhile deny what I am, try to hide it, have surgery, inject poison into my face, dye my hair, refuse to admit my birth year, but why should I? Why should I not be proud I have done what I have and now am ready to live these final years, how many there may be, as a juicy old woman, full of vim and vigor. Not as strong as when young but sure not ready to give it up either-- not just yet!