Today is the tomorrow I used to worry myself sick about.

Here’s the truth that I’m not so proud to admit: I have always feared old age and all the yuck that comes with aging.

I saw my parents and their friends go through it, and it seemed…tough. My mom used to say, “Getting old is scary, but it sure is better than the alternative!” And, intellectually, I could get it, but scary it did seem.

Today, though…well, today I don’t feel that way.

Today I woke up to finally be able to say…F**k that s**t!”

I woke up this morning a bona fide senior citizen, anxiety-free and happier than I’ve been in as long as I can remember. Mostly because my feet are firmly planted where my head is: Right here. Right now.

Here’s how I got good with my aging:

45-50

Almost 20 years ago, I started to fret about growing old as I slipped into a very challenging early menopause, post-divorce, and that’s when my packed calendar (aka my “well-planned life”) began to spiral. I felt lousy, I wasn’t sleeping, and no doctor or lab test could tell me why. I was stressed out about all of it, all the time. 

Looking back, I now see it was just menopause…and the BS story that came with it: that no matter how much wisdom life experience gives us, with it comes age, and society doesn’t much like women with high doses of either!

The week I turned 50, I moved from Miami, my birthplace and home my life up to that point, to Los Angeles, a whole other world (!), for a job at Warner Brothers, where I was advised (off the record) not to tell anyone my real age. And the internal story, born and validated externally, continued. (Can anyone relate?!)
. . .

60

Fast forward to five years ago, the weekend I turned 60: my beloved mom (and Campowerment’s Co-Founder), Grandy, was dying, and I was grasping at the straws I hoped could keep her heart beating until I was “ready” to let her go. That day, I got in her face and, in typical me fashion, I interviewed her (again) because I wanted so desperately to know how she was able to spend her 83 years so full of love and even more joie de vivre, despite all of life’s stuff (and there was plenty). 

See, for 60 years, I rarely saw my mom sweat (she says her body didn’t allow her to, but I think it was her mindset), and on what was supposed to be this momentous birthday, all I wanted was for her to tell me her secret to her happy, fulfilled life, so I could apply it to my own.

Waiting for some profound dash of her wisdom to wash over me, I was surprised by the simplicity of her response: “You know my secret,” she whispered, “is living 20 minutes at a time.” 

My whole life, ad nauseum, my mother had said that, but until that moment, I never really quite got the message: “Staying present is the best gift you can give yourself.” 

As a child, all I got was annoyed that my mom could only do one thing at a time, and didn’t want to be bothered with what comes next, for any of us. But after my mom died, I began to allow myself to think about what it might look and feel like to actually live her mantra: living life, 20 minutes at a time. 

It’s taken way too long for me to understand that nothing is as important as embracing only the very moment that’s right in front of us. And devouring it, with reckless abandon.
. . .

Last Year

After my dad died last year at 94, I could not decide where I wanted to live or even be for an extended period of time, so I lived in and for the moments, out of two suitcases, with the rest of my whittled-down belongings piled up in storage. I’ve been nomadic for almost two years now, traveling and renting Air BnBs and visiting friends all over the country. All the while, taking time to walk a lot, and meditate, to sit in silence with myself, and only whoever else is in front of me, at that very moment. No more trying to ‘figure out my life’ – I’ve made it my business to just be in it. Enjoying the journey. 20 minutes at a time.
. . .

Surrender

I had been single for 15 years when I finally gave up on the two things I always thought would bring me peace in my old age: finding real, true love in my life, and moving to what could actually be my final destination on this Earth. I was so OK with both those decisions, that I cut myself some slack, gained a few pounds and let the gray hair I’d been fighting for decades come out to play.  

And that is when love found me. At the same time I decided not to decide to move anywhere, just yet. And that is when Chelsea and I inadvertently discovered our time with Campowerment is complete. Just like that.

Sometimes, the biggest things in your life can happen in the shortest spans of time, outside of our “well-planned life.” But we can’t know that until we close our mouths to get quiet and listen; while we open our eyes to get curious and see. I try to remember and apply this knowing every single day (which is how often I catch myself in automatic, old ways and have the opportunity to course correct).

It sounds crazy, but until right now, at 65, I had never felt as free and present to all life holds for me. That is, of course, except for the days I spent with reckless abandon at summer camp as a kid 😉 And the moments I’ve gotten to mute the world to share Campowerment moments, on retreat, with so many of you.
. . .

So, happy 65th birthday to me!

My present this year is to gift YOU the next twenty minutes, enveloped in enough patience and love, to get yourself grounded in your own presence. And stop wasting time making so many plans around the what ifs that may or may not ever even happen. 

And if the planners in your life who want you to be in charge of everything don’t like that strategy (hi, Chels), you can borrow my mom Grandy’s other mantra:

“Oh well…”

Thanks for reading and sharing in this milestone, your way. 

From the campfire & beyond,
Tammi