Why Don’t I Feel Close to 60 Yet?

Why exactly don’t I feel sixty yet?
When does the mind and spirit finally sync up with the body,
because, damn, my body is way ahead.

It’s in the knees that creak like old floorboards every time I attempt a micro-bend.
It’s in the body that wakes at 3 a.m., wide-eyed for no reason.
It’s in the occasional kidney stones that remind me that pain has texture.
It’s in the litres of water I dutifully drink,
and the twenty trips to the bathroom that follow.
It’s in the brittle nails, the fast-drying hair,
the eyes that refuse to focus without squinting.

And in the mornings, when I rise stiff as wood,
needing a full engine warm-up before standing upright.

If I kept going, this could be a tragedy...

But then I pause and wonder: what does the mind really know? The mind insists it’s in charge, yet it’s merely following the heart. And the heart, I’ve learned, is not just a muscle, but a mindset. If the mind could only hush long enough, it might sense the quiet hum beneath it all... shhh... the spirit, the awareness, the living pulse that connects everything.

This awareness is the witness that watches the aches but is never itself in pain. It is the stillness beneath the chaos, the silence between heartbeats. It's the part that remains unwrinkled, ageless, unchanged.

And here I lie, legs propped on a mountain of pillows, contemplating this frustrating paradox. Why is the flesh so unforgiving? Why does it so betray my mental age, effectively caging a soul that still dances?

Yet in that very stillness, awareness deepens. And I remember: this body...this stubborn, aching, beautiful body, it’s the only ticket I have to the profound wonder of being alive.

It is the vessel that allows me to smell early morning coffee and frangipani. It is the instrument that tastes my mother’s soup and a sour gummy with equal delight. It sees the sheer light of my son’s laughter spreading across his face, feels the reassuring weight of my old man’s hand in mine, and registers the goosebumps when he brushes a finger along my cheek, all while hearing the chorus of children’s voices crowding a family video call.

In these moments, I feel awareness settle quietly in my chest, not as thought, but as presence. And I am profoundly grateful for this body in which I reside. Grateful for the senses that tether me to life, each one a miracle disguised as routine.

Because yes, I am more than this body. But this body, aching, aging, imperfect, is the doorway through which my soul experiences eternity...uninterrupted. And awareness is the key that reminds me: I have always been so much more to begin with.