At the beginning of every new year, my in-box is full of bucket list and intentions posts. I’m thinking about mine. Or, rather, I’m thinking about not thinking about them.

Two Sunday bloggers were in my lineup last week, and they got me considering this third act of life—which is not a new thing, obviously. One writer (I’ll call her Ms. Energy) is nearing 50. I won’t detail all she does, you would be ready to nap well into spring just reading it. The other (a friend of Ms. Energy, I’ll call him Mr. Ancient) is turning 60, sandwiched between me and Ms. Energy, twelve years on either side. I’m well past feeling remorse that I can’t channel Ms. Energy (not that I ever could), but it turns out Mr. Ancient has something to teach the more elder me about what I do—or don’t—want.

He writes this: “I have projects I want to complete, and I even have visions to learn new art forms . . . but I don’t want to live my final days to the staccato rhythms of the Urgent. It just doesn’t sound like much fun, for one. I want to pause and meander and savor and wonder and drift.” (I want a bumper sticker that says that.)

This is me with my mouth hanging open. Is that okay? Can one let go of feeling, at the not-yet-old-age of 72 (much less at 60), that shit must get done tout de suite before it’s too late? It’s not too late, but by the time it gets done—or let go of—might I have missed the window of opportunity to “pause and meander and savor and wonder and drift” because I am, I don’t know, dealing with health stuff or the end of democracy or whatever? Did we buy into this sense of urgency and “must do” when we were younger and now our arthritic fingers have it in a literal death grip?

Bucket lists (a little different from annual intentions) are defined as life lists, things to check off before one dies; but mine have always been serial. I replace things rather than add to the list. My bucket list used to include Eat Pasta and Pizza in Positano. I let go of that with no regrets, replacing it with “Visit ALL Western National Parks.” I’ve revised that to visit some national parks. Currently, I’m thinking about taking the Coast Starlight to visit a friend in California next autumn, and maybe getting into Death Valley, which I missed in 2023. That could add a park and replace bucket-listed Take Train Trip Across Canada.

But couldn’t bucket lists and annual intentions also (or alternatively) include “write a letter to a friend,” “savor the sunrise,” “consider the shades of brown in tree bark.” You know, downsizing the lists. Last week I drove 90 minutes out my favorite state highway to the historic hotel I love, walked the labyrinth at the wildlife refuge again, and sat by the fire and read, returning home for dinner. Going there every autumn/winter is on my bucket list. For now. I might try snowshoe meadow roving (my volunteer gig at Mt. Rainier), or not.

A recent epiphany pertains to the tendinitis/arthritis in my left hand (well, and my right). I spent months in 2023 winding through the medical maze: primary care doctor so I could waitlist to see an orthopedist so I could get referred for occupational therapy. A year after eight OT sessions, my hand is no better. I was panicked back then, “Oh my gawd, this is how it will be, this aging thing. Must Fix Now.” Today, I am not panicked; this is how it will be. I’ve adjusted. Not everything can or must be fixed.

Mr. Ancient writes at the end of his post: ”I don’t want to battle age, but stir it around, bathe in it. All of Time’s orneriness asks for celebration, acceptance, not resistance. Acceptance can be its own type of celebration. Loss can be its own song. And therein lie the gains of this peculiar state.” Don’t you love that?

That’s what I want to be doing in this act, both this year and this decade: celebrating, not arming for battle. Paying attention to the small things, letting go of the big ones. No tick tock. I’m turning off the clock.

Disclaimer: I’m trying this on for size. If it doesn’t fit, I’ll put it in the back of the drawer and take it out when I grow into it. Because, really, isn’t that the joy of elderhood, the freedom to try on ways of being in the world?

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What are you trying on for size in this new year? Or, what are you aging out of and/or into?

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Read Grant Faulkner’s (Mr. Ancient) post here.
Read my post “Lessons from a Labyrinth” here.

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Book recommendations (there’s a theme here, right?):

Still: The Art of Noticing, by Mary Jo Hoffman. This title caught my attention, I have it on library hold. “Every day (every single day) for over a decade, Mary Jo Hoffman has made a photograph of found nature – no subject too small or too ordinary.”

Still Life at Eighty: The Next Interesting Thing, by Abigail Thomas. Currently reading, laughing out loud.

I’m excited about the coming audio version of Mother Lode, from Tantor Media! Coming in May.
I’ll keep you posted.

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