The older I get, the more I see the beauty I never recognized in my youth.

I was at a baby shower on Sunday, and the mother-to-be was a gorgeous woman in an off the shoulder tight fitted dress. All the words that have been used many times for a woman close to giving birth applied to her. But there were others I hadn’t thought about before:

• how soft her skin looked
• how her eyes seemed to radiate peace
• how her calm demeanor made me feel more comfortable about the state of the world, even though it is about as  uncertain a time as I can remember.

The older I get, the more I see the beauty that comes with age. My husband’s wrinkled face has the most contagious smile. I once saw his now shrinking arm muscles lift the front end of a pickup truck away from the edge of a dirt road. I caressed those strong muscles with their pleasing allure when he was younger. They still hold me in a most tough and tender way.

The older I get, the more I see how little it takes to influence a child’s life. Yesterday we took our five year old grandson on a hike through the woods. It is one of his favorite activities and we can finally enjoy it again with spring temperatures. He has developed a fascination with animals and all living creatures. My husband showed him how to find insects by stripping bark from dead trees. They uncovered an ant’s nest where the queen scurried out and the other ants all picked up the eggs and began to sprint off in random directions. They watched the ant’s activity, then replaced the bark and made sure the queen was back in the nest so the ants could continue to turn the tree into dirt for the forest. We looked at lichen and discussed how they eat rocks. At the end of the trail, our grandson picked fresh green grass and fed it to the Shetland pony on the other side of a fence, stretching his hand out flat so the pony wouldn’t bite his fingers. We see our grandson is learning a love of nature, and understanding the cycle of life.

The older I get, the more I see how my priorities change about what matters most. I used to think that when older people stopped worrying about how they looked, it meant they were losing touch with reality. Now I know it means they have freed themselves from the need to impress anyone. I still like to look my best at times, but I’ve come to realize that it’s not worth shortening the experience to spend more time preparing for it in superficial ways.

The older I get, the more I see how I am less attached to material possessions. I shop less because I don’t need more. I seldom think of a material gift I need. The weight of my possessions feels more like a burden than a blessing. It’s not like I feel I will die soon and not need them. It’s more like I want life to be simple and flexible. I care about love, writing, reading and all things involving movement. I care about music and art and sunny days. Malls are annoying and stores seem like a waste of time.

The older I get, the more I see how time is shrinking. When you are a child, and you have only lived a few years, a year feels like an eternity, because it is. It may be one-fifth of your life. As you age, a year is merely one-sixtieth or one-seventieth of your life. A much shorter period of all you know of the world. As a result, you pack on years like calories at Thanksgiving, and before you know it, the years have altered your shape.

The older I get, the more I see how your shape is formed by all you have been throughout your life. We carry that inside us and it adds up to the essence of our spirit. What we have made of our lives from the pieces given to us is our creation. We can turn it to beauty or we can let it languish in an unfinished pile of possibilities.

The older I get, the more I see that everyone I have ever been still lives within me. I have grown. Sometimes I’ve shrunk. I have made mistakes and had regrets. I have been mean and lazy and selfish. I have also been kind and caring and giving. I have forged paths in new ways that needed to happen. I have tripped over old paths and cursed their creators. I have given birth and witnessed death. I have been a true friend and a spiteful bitch. I have been judgmental, forgiving and opportunistic. I have been so poor I stole food to eat. I have dined at exquisite restaurants. I have been a vegetarian and a carnivore. I have been desperate to be loved, and cruel in breaking a heart.

The older I get, the more I see that I am human— completely imperfect, utterly vulnerable, strong as a rock, and just like everyone else.