The true gift of aging isn’t wisdom or wrinkles, it’s realizing you don’t have to drive the damn train anymore.
I’ve spent most of my life driving the damn train.
Not literally, although I’m fairly certain I could have figured it out if Amtrak had given me the keys, but you get it. I was the one gripping the controls. Eyes locked straight ahead. Destination, destination, destination.
Why GenX Women Became Obsessed With Control:
And here’s the kicker: it wasn’t just personality. It was programming. I’m GenX (or close enough–six months shy of the cutoff,) and I’ve claimed it anyway. And GenX didn’t have helicopter parents. Helicopters weren’t even available to rent in the 70s, at least not in the suburban cul-de-sac where I was busy raising myself. Our parents weren’t hovering over our homework with organic snacks. They were chain-smoking in the kitchen, yelling “Be home by dark” while we lit Pop-Tarts on fire.
So we learned to manage our own lives. Feral children in bell-bottoms, making it up as we went. And when adulthood hit, that turned into an addiction to control. Manage the schedule, manage the money, manage the damn future.
So I did. Graduate school? Check. Career? Check. Family? Check. Milestones ticked off like stops on a train line. The next stop was always the only thing that mattered. Didn’t matter how beautiful the view was out the left window, or what wild thing was happening on the right. I didn’t look. I didn’t have time. I was the driver, and drivers don’t sightsee.
Sounds noble, doesn’t it? Being in charge of your destiny. Except here’s the truth I only know now, at sixty-plus: when your eyes are glued to the tracks, you miss the entire trip.
The Hidden Gift Of Aging, Letting Go Of Urgency:
And then, not with a lightning bolt, not with a shaman, not with sage smoke swirling in the corners of my living room, I stopped. Quietly. Subtly. Without making a production out of it. I just stopped gripping so damn hard.
I slid out of that cramped, belted-down driver’s seat and let myself sit in the passenger section. And something wild happened.
The urgency disappeared.
This is not what I expected. I thought having fewer years ahead would make me frantic. That I’d double-down on driving. That I’d go harder, faster, scarier, trying to wring every last drop of “success” out of the time left. Instead, it’s the opposite. The urgency, that buzzing, constant panic, dissolved. Poof. Gone.
Life’s Strange Alignments And The Gift Of Aging:
And from the passenger seat, I started noticing things I had been blind to for decades. Subtle signs. Alignments. Coincidences that weren’t coincidences at all.
Like the “windfall” that landed in my lap (a business payout I was ready to celebrate) on the exact same day the IRS dropped a surprise tax bill (and for the exact, same amount). The old me would’ve raged at the injustice, stomping and wailing that “my” money was gone. Passenger-seat me saw it differently: it wasn’t my windfall. It was the Universe balancing the books.
Or the car I’d bought my son that got totaled in an accident. Old me would’ve spun into spreadsheets of disaster, cursing bad luck. Passenger-seat me noticed the absurd humor: no injuries, and the insurance check came back larger than what I’d paid. And here’s the kicker–my son’s moving to Chicago soon and wasn’t planning on taking the car anyway. Now, thanks to the timing, his first month’s rent, last, and security deposit are already covered. Creepy? Maybe. Perfect? Absolutely.
There have been more like that. The kind of alignments you can only notice when you stop pretending you’re in charge of the whole damn railroad.
The Real Freedom Inside The Gift Of Aging:
And here’s the part people don’t want to say out loud: the driver’s seat isn’t noble. It’s claustrophobic. It’s a chokehold disguised as control. The levers and dials don’t actually steer the train; they just keep you busy while you miss your life.
From the passenger seat, life is less frantic. And no, I’m not napping. I published my first book. I took a 60-hour immersive language class. I’ve said yes to detours I would’ve blown past when I was too busy driving. Those weren’t the product of master plans or 5-year goals. They showed up, pressed against the window, whispering, “Pick me.” And this time, I saw them.
Seeing The Scenery: The Ultimate Gift Of Aging
Control was never control. It was an illusion, a stranglehold. The real gift of aging isn’t just wisdom or perspective; it’s unclenching. Finally sliding into the seat where you can see.
The train is still moving. The track is still there. But for the first time, I’m not missing the view.
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