Power. You Never Lose It.

We never lose our power. Some of us misplace it or believe it’s diminished over time. We may not seem the same on the surface, and we may develop gnarly habits. But our power is always with us. The truth is we’re the same person we were at 12. Life weakens and fortifies us. We all break, but most of us mend. We recover from setbacks and illnesses of the body and soul.

All the strength you need to survive and thrive is in you. Some people believe our capacity fades over time.  And truth be told, many friends and family agree. The collective message is overwhelming. When you paddle hard through middle age, you may forget what you can do. You may be a bit slower and a little forgetful, but you’re still 100% you. No less, maybe more.

We can keep up with people decades younger. Last weekend, I was surprised and thrilled when I kept pace with my daughter Emma. We walked 9 miles around midtown Manhattan, survived a visit to Bergdorf Goodman, and spent two hours on subways. It gave me hope because I assumed I’d petter out before Emma. She runs marathons, and I walk around my neighborhood (a lot). I’m almost 65, and I had a stroke four years ago. At the time, I tripped along Fifth Avenue and couldn’t manage the stairs in the subway. This time, I only tripped twice and walked down stairs with ease.

Your wisdom and persistence are a winning combination. My Aunt Kay always beat me in tennis because she knew where to place the ball. No amount of lung capacity or agility could overcome her acquired-over-time skill at lobbing the ball to the back line or a foot from the net. She started playing tennis in her thirties. I started playing tennis when I eight-years-old. Our power is manifested through persistence, living daily with the unique challenges that begin in your 7th decade. Pain, loss, and endings. Bodies changing like puberty in reverse and with almost as much drama.

Realizing I have the power I had in my youth is a revelation. My power was unearthed courtesy of being tossed like a rowboat in a storm. So many things unraveled these past four years. We weathered caring for a family member with dementia, death, addiction, and three moves. At my lowest point, I realized that I was still the person who forged her own way, set goals with a singleness of purpose, and rarely entertained failure. Knowing this became a fundamental survival skill.

In my fifties, when More magazine empowered aging women, I focused more on failure than achievement. I sat with all the rotten expectations for women. Vitality, youthful beauty, a slim body, fashionable attire, and a narrow view of what it means to achieve. Also, I completely missed the memo about letting go of insecurities even though I read plenty of articles about women liberated in middle age. Unfortunately, it didn’t happen to me. I felt inferior.

At age 61, I found the power I desperately needed. I couldn’t believe it was still there or that I ever let it go. Life’s trials haven’t necessarily made me a better person. A little bit better, but they have made me stronger. I feel it when I set boundaries, shake off petty insults and make decisions with confidence. And when I put the worst news in perspective.

Now, for some confessions. Regrets over things I did when my power waned, like applying dangerously old mascara rather than none. Or wearing shoes that could break my ankles because they looked good. Or chipping fingernails while straining to pull up Spanx that never fit right. I wish I never checked the size of an engagement ring, always, or noted the brand of car someone drove, always. And I feel stupid for believing that people with blue-chip degrees are smarter. Most of all, I deeply regret not spending more time with people who are different than me. I would have learned so much more about being and living. I probably have a decent amount of time left for improvement. It should be a little bit easier now that my power is back.

P.S. That’s my friend Sissy in the photo above. She’s 81 and hasn’t lost a drop of her power or vibrance.

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