I Think I’m Becoming an Old Lady… and I’m Surprisingly Okay With It

Somewhere along the way, I became an old lady.

Not overnight. It kind of snuck up on me.

One day you’re buying cute shoes, and the next you’re genuinely excited about finding a face cream that’s on sale… even though you know good and well it’s not going to erase 61 years of laughing, worrying, and squinting.

I actually like the idea of sleeping with a few curlers in my hair. I have an entire lineup of anti-aging creams, all making promises they have absolutely no intention of keeping. I fill my pill organizer every month and feel ridiculously accomplished when it’s done. It’s weirdly satisfying.

I also never expected certain smells to become comforting. The smell of Noxzema, baby oil, and Mentholatum has a whole new effect on me now. They don’t just remind me of my childhood anymore—they remind me of where I am today. They’re the scents of scraped knees, sunburns, grandparents, sick days… and now achy muscles and bedtime routines. It’s funny how life comes full circle. The very things that remind me of my youth have somehow become the comforts of my aging. It’s a full-circle moment for all of my senses.

I’ve become a person who loves a routine. I love when it’s just Dennis and me at home. After 33 years together, there’s something comforting about knowing each other’s habits. We don’t even have to talk all the time. Just being in the same house somehow feels like home.

I’ve got wind chimes hanging in the yard. Ceramic frogs that I’ve randomly decided deserve names. Crystals hanging in my trees—one for each grandchild—because it makes me smile when the sun catches them.

I’ve reached the age where birds are suddenly fascinating. I know which squirrel is stealing from the bird feeder. I get excited when a plant I was sure I killed decides to make a comeback. I have opinions about birdseed, hummingbirds, and whether it’s going to rain based on how my knees feel.

I wave at strangers. I get excited over a new kitchen gadget I’ll probably use twice. I tell people to “drive careful.” I compare prices just for the thrill of saving 37 cents. I turn the TV down so I can read the captions. I get irrationally excited when I buy a new sponge or finally find a container that fits leftovers perfectly.

And don’t even get me started on how much joy a good nap can bring.

Twenty-five-year-old me would be horrified.

Sixty-one-year-old me is living her best life.

Growing older isn’t just about wrinkles or gray hair. It’s about finding comfort in the little things. It’s about building a life that finally feels peaceful. It’s about realizing that home isn’t a place—it’s a person you’ve spent the last 33 years laughing with.

So yes… I think I’m becoming an old lady.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to go check on my ceramic frogs.