It happened quietly in shades of greying.

On my 67th birthday, I entered the Aging Zone. I got it that I am aging on a level I hadn’t registered before. It was really happening to me.

Entering the Aging Zone is a subjective thing. It’s the point where you realize you’ve crossed over from “getting older” to “aging.”

For me, it was a subtle yet clear inner shift, not triggered by aches or pains or anything like that.

When that tipping point happens is different for different people. For many, it comes with turning seventy. For others, the arrival of health issues that don’t depart can mark the transition.

“Getting older” is something we do throughout our lives. A two-year-old gets older. A teenager gets older. A thirty-year-old gets older. A fifty-year-old gets older.

But “aging” implies you’re much further along the road than “getting older.” It means you’ve turned the last bend and are in the final stretch. No more dancing around it. Your life is finite.

You’re aware of the raw truth that, if you’re lucky, you have a decade or two, maybe three, remaining. You have enough experience by now to know how fast a decade goes by. You also realize that your body will wear out during that time. There are likely already signs that reinforce that fact.

Aging comes in shades of greying.

Until you enter the Aging Zone, there are plenty of signs that it’s approaching — undeniable signs that I like to call “shades of greying.”

But if you’re like me, they don’t really hit home as “aging,” probably because of the powerful denial most of us have about getting old. They feel more like unwelcome nudges that are batted away like buzzing mosquitoes. But looking back, I see they were signposts pointing to where I was headed.

The first shade of greying: It will happen to me.

As a younger person, somewhere in my late thirties, I had the embarrassing realization that I saw old age and its accompanying features of white hair, wrinkled faces, sagging bodies, and difficulty getting around as a condition akin to an illness that afflicted those people but would never happen to me.

I hate to admit that even now. Even harder is the mild impatience and scorn that were part of this not-uncommon delusion of youth.

But that glimmer of awareness meant that for a brief moment, I saw that aging was a reality that I, too, would experience. I wouldn’t be spared. It was still far enough away that it didn’t yet concern me. It was more of a passing discomfort that I could quickly push out of my mind.

The second shade of greying: To dye or not to dye?

The next shade of greying came in my mid-forties when my hair started going grey. I was faced with a choice to either accept this outer sign that I was aging or to hide it.

I had thought of myself as someone who would never dye her hair, who would embrace getting old gracefully and naturally, scoffing at the idea. It went along with natural childbirth, breastfeeding, and doing yoga.

However, it wasn’t so easy once faced with the reality of my greying locks. I knew it could impact how I’d be perceived as a woman and as a professional, and it felt too risky when it came right down to it. I wasn’t ready to embrace this (literal) shade of greying.

I dyed.

This shade of greying took another form a decade or so later, this time in reverse when I started to worry that I looked like an old woman who dyed her hair.

Did my face betray my age while my hair tried to lie about it unsuccessfully?

The fact that this question came up meant that I was seeing the face that looked back at me in the mirror more realistically. It was not the face of a younger or even a middle-aged woman. Who was I trying to fool?

That lie became more challenging to live with.

I know that for many women going grey after covering it is a big decision. You can find multiple Facebook groups devoted to the topic where women share their fears and support one another in making the change.

It takes courage because it means letting go. Letting go of caring about what people think. Letting go of some imagined control. Letting go of youth. Letting go of a particular view of yourself. Letting go of potential options.

I took the plunge. It was scary. Without realizing it, I was taking a giant step toward the Aging Zone with this significant acknowledgment that might have been obvious to others but one I had chosen to ignore.

I didn’t yet think of myself as aging, though. I was just an “older” woman.

The third shade of greying: the freedom to come as you are.

Turning sixty came with the relentlessly compelling question, “Is this what I want to be doing with my life?” I was at the peak of my career, doing things I never dreamed I would be doing, but it required embracing someone else’s way and conforming to a mold that didn’t fit.

This turn of the decade brought a surge of determination to say “No!” to those expectations and to insist on doing things on my own terms, even if it meant a loss of status, reputation, and income and going against what might be considered the “wise” thing to do.

I began to examine what was truly important to me more deeply and deliberately make space for those things. Riding this wave led to the full awakening in the Aging Zone.

The Aging Zone is actually pretty great!

To my surprise, the Aging Zone brings with it priceless treasures that I suspect only come with age but that I wish I’d had access to the way here. There is a freedom that comes that (so far) outweighs the downsides. Among them are these:

• I don’t have anything to prove. My motivation now is to find ways to encourage and inspire others in whatever form naturally presents itself: calling a friend who is sick, smiling at a stranger on the street, or writing a blog about something that sparks a sense of recognition or inspiration in others (like aging!).
• I accept myself the way I am. I am more willing to listen to what floats my boat; if that means taking a nap after lunch, so be it. If it means dancing in a restaurant, I’m up and at it. Learn to play an instrument? Why not? Life is short. No time like the present.
• What you see is what you get. I look like someone in the Aging Zone, and that’s okay. I might wear a little make-up occasionally, but that’s just for me. I like seeing a face in the mirror that looks slightly perkier. No one else really notices. I can’t hide it.

Two powerful tools for happiness in the Aging Zone:

Savoring and gratitude are my two guiding touchstones for this time of my life.

Soaking in the sweetness around me — the sound of my son’s voice on the telephone, the company of friends, the sound of birds, the bare lacy trees in winter, the first sip of morning coffee, my feet in contact with the ground while walking. Small joys are to be found everywhere!

I consciously give thanks for the blessings that exist from moment to moment: I wake up in the morning and am grateful. Running water- grateful! Bowels that work: grateful! If I let myself, which I do as often as possible, my life is one big festival of things to be grateful for!

Enjoying the ride to the finish line.
Reaching the Aging Zone made me realize that I may as well squeeze all the juice out of the orange that I can, but not in that desperate gotta-succeed-work-hard-stressed-out way that was part of my younger vibe.

I want to enjoy the ride to the finish line with ease, regardless of what life throws my way.

With my life intention to notice, savor, and be grateful for all the goodness around me, I have the tools I need to face whatever challenges the Aging Zone presents.