60: (April 2026)
Over the years, I’ve heard people say, ‘She’s let herself go,’ about women who let their hair go gray or don’t wear makeup. Then a millennial remarked to me last week that she thinks her generation tries to ‘hold onto their youth differently’ than those of my generation, who she views as having embraced adulthood earlier and more readily.
I don’t know about the rest of the folks in my generation, but I have never really had a big desire to ‘hold onto my youth.’ I enjoyed my 20s and 30s, but I’ve enjoyed each chapter of life. I don’t wish to remain in any one chapter; each has had its own joys, surprises, sorrows, and opportunities for growth. Why wish to hold onto something when holding on may, in fact, hold you back from moving forward, or letting life unfold in a more expansive way?
Our current world is absurdly dominated by advertising and marketing schemes that extol youth. It sure keeps capitalism humming as people throng to salons, spas, and products that promise to give people the illusion of youth. I’ve spent the last 35 years in the woods of New Hampshire, where if anywhere, there is at least a little less emphasis on trying to look young. I look old; that is to say, I look my age. Yes, I’ve let go, and that’s by choice. I have too much I want to do with each day that I am graced with than to worry about whether I can fool anyone about my age, too busy enjoying what life has to offer to this 68-year-old.
While I do not wish to hold onto visual youth, I do wish for continued health: to feel good. The natural cycle of life will ultimately visit all of us, but I strive to make healthy life choices to enhance my chance to be really old someday—and I’m sure I’ll have plenty of wrinkles to show for it.
40: (April 2006)
I was driving on a country road when I thought I saw my ex-husband’s car coming toward me. I glanced over as it approached, and to my surprise I saw my first-born, my little girl, my baby: driving! She smiled excitedly and waved. “Put your hands on the wheel!” I wanted to scream. But the moment was gone, and she was already a good distance behind me.
So it begins. I have a child who is learning to drive. Is she really that old? Am I old enough to have a daughter who can drive? Will she be safe? I trust her to drive well, but can I somehow get an alert out to all the other drivers on the road to tell them that my child will be behind the wheel, and that they had better not drink and drive or do other stupid things that might endanger her life? And can we put snow and ice on hold for a few years until she has plenty of driving experience under her belt?
Letting go. Letting go. Always letting go. Motherhood—life itself—is one big exercise in letting go, in learning to trust. What will be will be. Thank God for all things. Yada, yada. Mothers are called to carry life within them, tend to it for years and years, and then watch it fly out of the nest. Or drive, as the case may be.
So I took my daughter driving in my car. As she pulled down the driveway with me in the passenger seat, I had a powerful déjà vu, a vibrant flash of doing the same thing with my Dad 30 years earlier. Only now I was sitting where my Dad had been, and my child was sitting in the driver’s seat. It was such an odd sensation, a strange feeling in my body of not being in control of the car. My daughter was taking control. Bit by bit, she pulls the strings of her own life, and she does it so well.
I can no longer protect her like I did when I was in control of so many aspects of her life. Ultimately, we are not even in control of our own lives. But I like to believe in the illusion of thinking it is possible, especially with respect to my children. I want to protect them. I yearn to protect them, to make the world a safe place. But she drives. And I must let go of another invisible cord.
Please be extra careful on the road. My baby’s out there.
60-40:
I could teach a master class in letting go, what with my two daughters living abroad and leading adventurous lives! Our relationships have taught me so much.
But the fact is, letting go doesn’t mean severing the heartstrings. Those remain, gaining ever more strength with every beat of my heart.
Maybe letting go is less about loss and more about what you gain in return.
60-40 