Becoming “Them” Isn’t Half Bad
Today I crossed over to a new phase of life. I became one of "them." The others. We all see groups that are outside of our experience. Living life around us, almost living in a parallel existence. They are the dog owners to those of us without dogs. Or the fearless living a life that is hard to imagine. They are a group of athletes to my fellow cohort of nonathletic people. We move aside to let them pass, knowing those groups are not for us. Until one day, they are. Then, we find ourselves with a dog, wearing a hot pink blazer, or, heaven forbid, playing on an organized kickball team. We become "them."
I became "them" today while I walked down the aisles of my local military commissary. The last time I set foot on those same linoleum floors, I was a bright and shiny officer's wife. With my grocery list firmly grasped in hand, I had places to be and people to see. So I raced through the aisles, weaving my cart past all those irritating retirees who like to browse the shelves. I found them frustrating because, without fail, the particular things I needed often created interesting conversations for two seniors with no place else to be, placing them well outside my reach. For example, do they need to discuss the amount of fiber in each cereal, or are toilet paper brands that different? Really?
I was me, and they were them. I never thought it would ever change. Then my husband transitioned out of the military, and I swore I would never return to a military base. So we continued with our lives. Ten years passed, and with food costs rising, I decided to return and utilize one of the perks of military service. While the military commissary can sometimes have a limited selection, it does have great prices.
Off I went. After circling the parking lot, I found a space and pushed a giant shopping cart toward the building. As those sliding doors parted, I had a rush of memories. In a flash, I remembered all the dinners, potlucks, and holiday meals I made from the items on those shelves. The gossip shared, and the hiding from the commander's wife to avoid eye contact took me back. I slowly pushed my cart, loading up with foods for recipes long since forgotten. Giggling to myself, I stopped to explore the variety of canned soups when a young woman reached over me to retrieve two cans of Amy's Quinoa, Kale, and Red Bean Lentil soup. At that moment, I became "them," a retiree.
I stood frozen while I had my brief out-of-body experience. Then, slowly backing away from my soup fascination, I headed toward the end of the aisle. As I rounded the corner of aisle 8, I began to realize life in this group isn't half bad. I didn't care if I saw a commander's wife; if I did, having lived it, I now know how lonely that life can be. Also, I overheard a few pieces of juicy gossip. And Monica, if you're reading this, even though you had too much wine the other night, no one is mad at you.
Viewing life through a different lens gives me a perspective I would never have understood if one of the retirees from my past had told me. I wouldn't have seen that very few things in life matter more than the experiences they create. Experiences to look back on and think, "wow, I'm glad I lived that." To be at the point when you are happy enough to look at the person you used to be and think, "you go, girl," because, without you, I wouldn't be here now. As I sit and write this, I wonder what the other "them" are in my life. Maybe I should find an organized kickball league to join.
(As a side note, toilet paper brands are very different, and fiber in cereal has its place. Take it from me, a retiree.)
