I was having lunch with my friend Lori and her sister Carol, whom I had not met before, last week. We’re all about the same age, and our conversation started out very pleasantly. Then after a while, Carol started expounding in a monotone voice about how terrible it was to be getting older and how she absolutely hated the aging process. She talked for 45 minutes in great detail about her aches and pains, her failing eyesight and hearing, and her husband’s lack of interest in her sexually. She concluded that she probably could not attract men any more.I finally got to ask her if she was happy. She replied, “Happy, how could you ask such a question? I used to be the prettiest girl in my class and now look at me. I’m 68, a disaster and over the hill.” I realized that, even though we’re the same age, my perspective on aging at least allows me to be happy.
