I hate when people say, "You're not old." Yes, I am. 65 is old. I hope to be older, but 65 is still old. I'm not pretending to be 25, so you don't have to pretend I am, either.
I have been asked why I don't hang out with people my own age. The answer is because I'm not in preschool. There may be a time when I get chucked into a home and they'll put me in the rising 85 year-olds (a small group, with a high drop-out rate), but for now I prefer to hang out with people with whom I have similar interests and who refrain from telling me I'm not old.
I am still freaked out every time I look at my hands and they're the hands of an old person. I'm used to the dark circles under my eyes and the impressive chin wattle, but I still wonder every time I look down, "Who stuck my mother's hands at the end of my arms??"
My quality of life diminished greatly after my divorce, and never recovered. I no longer own a home, washer/dryer, and/or dishwasher. I don't have or ever will have a significant other. I have adjusted amazingly well to this; but I sometimes still miss having a washer/dryer.
Many people get more religious as they get older, I've gotten less. I never accepted the construct of heaven or hell, once I stopped believing in Santa Clause or Congress. I like the idea of reincarnation, but I think it's entirely possible that once you're dead, you're dead. I find that comforting. At least I won't miss having a washer/dryer anymore.
I have accepted the fact that every day there will be at least one part of my body in pain. It's kind of fun getting up in the morning (itself a plus!) and discovering which body part hurts today. It took me awhile to get over the, "Oh my God, my elbow hurts, I have elbow cancer!" phase, but I thankfully have landed in the resignation phase, "Life's a bitch, and then you die."
It has also taken a long time for me to accept the fact that I will never be the person I want to be. I will always have my demons. At one point, I thought realizing why I have demons would make them go away, but it hasn't. I just have to come up with coping mechanisms to learn to live with them, which I have. In the words of the great Jack Nicholson, "This is as good as it gets." This fact no longer reduces me to a sobbing, inconsolable pile of poo. Most days.
Yes, I am rapidly spinning towards the end of my mortal coil, but I am beyond lucky/grateful to have my amazing kids, their partners, and my grandbabies, theatre, and my loving theatre friends, and my cats. Not bad for an old lady.