I wrote this Saturday morning because I knew if I didn’t write it down immediately it would disappear with all the other thoughts I’ve failed to remember. When something comes to me in a half-dream state, I tend to believe it arrives for a reason. I wasn’t sure what to make of it, so I let the weekend guide me instead.

I spent most of it outdoors, gardening, cleaning, a bit of landscaping. The weather was perfect. I wore gloves while cleaning, but gardening always beckons bare hands. All the while I thought about fear. Not what used to scare me, but what this feather strokes me with today.

Soon I will begin volunteering with hospice patients. If you know me, volunteer work has always been important in my life. I didn’t make this decision lightly, but I know it’s where I want to be and where I hope to make some kind of difference. Naturally it has me thinking about death, but even more about the process of getting there, if we are lucky enough to live long lives.

But I have never been afraid of dying. Lately, what unsettles me is aging. My body changing, my appearance failing me, the slow loss of vitality. I think I’m afraid of losing this version of myself. Of not having enough time in today’s body. Because I know what it is to take youth for granted.

My knees creak when I bend. My face is beginning to sag. I woke up achy this Monday morning and even slept an extra hour. I am faced with the possibility that if I live long enough, I may not be able to care for myself. I may one day be the person in hospice. I will very likely grow old alone.

So what am I really afraid of, aging or loneliness? Maybe both. Maybe they are not so different. 

I hope volunteering will deepen my understanding that aging is not superficial but existential. Maybe while I am there to help others, I will receive a little help too, and feel less alone as I learn to sit with this fear.

I feel vulnerable admitting all of this, but it is honest. And honesty has never frightened me.