One of the most frightening things I had discovered about growing “older” is the mind’s refusal at following the body’s lead. It is a slow and subtle dance, this mind and body waltz: while long-term memory conjures images that seem to have only happened yesterday, the body dances forward, minutely out of step with each new song.
When I was a young adult I assumed that “old” people had old minds that feebly floated back across old memories the same way their old bodies feebly crossed a street; that my own young memories were fresh and sharp merely because they had occurred in the span of a few short decades; that I would NEVER grow old enough to shuffle or chase peas around on a plate; that — like Peter Pan — I would never grow up.
This year my body turned 62. Now, one of the LEAST frightening things I’ve discovered is the mind’s refusal at following the body’s lead.