I see him almost everyday on my way to or home from the local country store. Clutching a newspaper purchased at the same store, running up the low, long hill at the base of our road, I know from his hair color that this man is very likely older than I am. But everyday I see him jogging up that hill, his relaxed smile pronounce to the world that he is not old.
He’s not the only “senior” citizen I’ve noticed lately who’s refused to retire to a rocking chair. Mornings, I see a woman with steel grey hair and steely determination in her eyes running that road. She keeps the same pace going down hill or up.
I love these scenes. I love seeing a Facebook status from a family member who may be retirement age according to some calendar but has chosen to make her own schedule while leading hiking tours in the Rockies. I loved being part of a race whose highlights included a 92-year-old finishing a 5k for the 32nd time. It reminds me everyday that I can choose to grow old (something I’ve been thinking about a bit more as the “change” rolls in), or I can choose to keep growing.