Yesterday, I was on TikTok and I came across this older woman. I think her name is Gigi. She looked her age, yes, but there was something about her I really fancied. Gigi is an alive woman. In all her videos, she’s not actually trying to be young, yet she carries youth so effortlessly. I love how she’s living and not shrinking into age, or dressing herself into invisibility like some people seem to do when they decide they are old. This lady moves like life was still happening to her, not something she had outgrown and that’s the kind of thing I love to see on the internet. Plus us young people are hyping her up because she deserves it.
Now Gigi’s lifestyle made me think of the inevitable truth that one day, I will be old too. My skin will loosen, my face will tell of tales I didn’t even realize I was writing. Time will rest on me the same way it rested on her and I won’t be able to stop it.
I felt something bittersweet about that realization. During the thought process, I wasn’t entirely sad, but not entirely comforting either. But then this morning, I came across a line on Pinterest about books, about collecting them not out of excess, but in preparation. More like saying one day, there might be nothing left to do but read and to be honest that suddenly softened my thought of aging.
Because imagine that life where you have a big quiet room, sunlight slipping lazily through the window. You retired and time no longer seems to rush you nr is there some demanding urgency. It’s just you and shelves filled with beautiful stories waiting for your eyes and mind to absorb them.
It is profoundly comforting in knowing that even as the body slows, our minds can still wander endlessly. That even when the world begins to feel distant, books can bring it closer again or take you somewhere entirely new. Perhaps growing old is not something to dread, but something to prepare for in quaint ways. Not just financially or physically, but emotionally.
To build a life where solitude does not feel like emptiness, but like peace. Where you have things, dainty and sweet that keep you company. And for me, I think books would do just that. So maybe it’s not about fearing the wrinkles, or the slowing down, or the quiet that comes with age. To me, right now, it’s about asking yourself, when everything else settles, what will still make you feel alive?
For some, it might be people and to others, memories. For me, it will be living and might also just be a room full of books waiting patiently for the version of me who finally has the time to read them all.