Among the many joys of being a writer is that writers tend to come into their own as they get older, mostly because the older they get, the more they have to write about, the more they have seen, the more they have to share. This is also true of photographers and artists I think. In our culture, older people are discarded like plastic water bottles, sent to the trash but not re-cycled. In the Corporate Nation, the value of life is measured in remaining peak purchasing years, not in wisdom and experience. Nobody wants to hear the lessons or cautions of old people, they are banned from the news, movies, TV shows and hideous cable debates. Curiously enough, I always did want to hear the stories of older people, I still do. I feel like I’m soaking up the meaning of life, they have so much to tell me. I love to hear about their joys and regrets, soak up their lessons and parables, and I am grateful for that.

This made me a story-teller and gave me stories to give back. As I get older – I am still working out taking insulin now, I took my blood and gave myself the first injection this morning, and it has put me in a reflective mood this rainy day – I think more and more about my life, my past, my regrets and lessons.

I have this idea that  our world has become  harsh, edgy, tense and rarely nourishing. Everywhere I go, I am asked for passwords, social security numbers, my mother’s maiden name, the teacher in elementary school that I most disliked. The big idea in our world seems to be that our lives are filled with danger, nobody can be trusted, nobody can be taken at their word. Everyone I talk to seems to assume I am dangerous, a thief, a hacker, or worse, and those codes and passwords are supposed to make me safe.  I work to find the points of light, the points of connection. They are almost always there. Underneath it, we are all human.

As I enter my 60’s, parts of me are diminishing all the time, other parts growing richer and deeper, I sometimes feel I am a skiff going in two directions at once.  Something aches on most days, I have never felt younger, more energetic, more creative. My big lesson now: it is important to work to soften the edges of life, to be kinder, to be gentler, to listen.

When I go to the health center to get my blood checked, to get my prescriptions – it is fascinating to be where you said a million times you would never be, and isn’t there a lesson in that? – I stop and asked the harried women how they are, I work to get a smile, to break through the ice, to find the natural part of any human that wants to trust, to get to the spark in all of us that is passed my passwords and codes. I mean who but the real me would want to come to a health center to get blood drawn?

I am working to soften the edges of my life, and those of the people around me. To be softer to the people on the phone, the tense bank phone bankers, people on the edge of our lives who control our money and machines and sometimes, our peace of mind?

This is a lesson  I have to offer to the world. Soften the edges, be gentler and kinder. When I think of my regrets, I most often think of the times I failed to be gentler, kinder, softer. I love being a writer growing older. Sometimes I feel I have finally learned a few things, and I will pass them on, whether or not people want to hear them.