Don't worry, I'm not going to talk about my kids' exuberance, blablabla...
Today, I had a glimpse into the melancholy that accompanies aging. I wasn't sad, or feeling old, or depressed about my crow's feet or perpetual exhaustion. I was struck/mesmerized/attuned to the sheer beauty of the two musicians who played a concert at the school I work at.
At first glance, I thought they were cute (probably because I'm ovulating this week...). Then I was affected by the energy they exuded; the passion they put into their instruments; their agile-seeming bodies; and it was a direct reflection of their youth. It wasn't their talent, or their good looks, or their energy, it was simply their youth. And I realized that I am headed markedly and inexorably in a direction opposite. With this realization came the immediate urge to take advantage of my current, but every fading youth, to lose weight, flaunt it, engage life as fiercely as youth are known to do.
But... I already am doing just that.
The woman next to me, 55 years old, has already mentioned how she envies my youth, and has confided in me her pain being looked over by people everywhere she goes.
So how do I appreciate this youth + vitality + beauty?
Of course, by accepting that one day it will be no more.