I have put pride aside and taken up my cane. Every time I leave the house or car, I now use a cane for walking. It sounds so easy, writing about using a cane - but it's one of those life passages that's far more difficult than it sounds.
It is taking a whole lot of humility to be reliant on my cane. I try not to let the looks of curiosity or, even worse, pity bother me. But they do. I try not to let the comments suggesting I'm older than I am, bother me.(Maureen, you know what I'm talking about!) But they do. I try not to let the comments of empathy or pity bother me. But they do.
And I realize the reason it bothers me is that not only am I schlepping the cane I'm still carrying my pride. Wounded pride, but pride nonetheless. I'm trying to leave it at home or just to throw it away all together. After all, it's a lot of baggage to lug around while holding onto a cane. I'm trying not to care about looks or comments or senior discounts. Trying a little each day.
The song that often plays over-and-over in my mind, while walking with my cane, is "I'm Too Sexy for My Cane". (The original song was, 'I'm too sexy for my shirt' - but this middle age woman is definitely sexier with the shirt on!! )
I digress. The point behind my singing that song is that I don't feel on the inside like I must look on the outside - reliant on the cane. I don't know anyone in mid-age that feels mid-age - we all feel like we're still 20- or 30-something. My feeling about the cane is similar to that dichotomy. On the inside, I still feel fairly young and sexy. On the outside . . . well that's a different story!!!
I don't write this for sympathy. Really. I just want you to know that the cane is a fact of life for me these days. I'm no different than I was two months ago when I didn't use the cane daily. And if you see me humming a little tune while walking along, you can bet your sweet bippy that it's "I'm too sexy for my cane, too sexy for my cane. Too sexy . . ." Just wink and smile!
It is taking a whole lot of humility to be reliant on my cane. I try not to let the looks of curiosity or, even worse, pity bother me. But they do. I try not to let the comments suggesting I'm older than I am, bother me.(Maureen, you know what I'm talking about!) But they do. I try not to let the comments of empathy or pity bother me. But they do.
And I realize the reason it bothers me is that not only am I schlepping the cane I'm still carrying my pride. Wounded pride, but pride nonetheless. I'm trying to leave it at home or just to throw it away all together. After all, it's a lot of baggage to lug around while holding onto a cane. I'm trying not to care about looks or comments or senior discounts. Trying a little each day.
The song that often plays over-and-over in my mind, while walking with my cane, is "I'm Too Sexy for My Cane". (The original song was, 'I'm too sexy for my shirt' - but this middle age woman is definitely sexier with the shirt on!! )
I digress. The point behind my singing that song is that I don't feel on the inside like I must look on the outside - reliant on the cane. I don't know anyone in mid-age that feels mid-age - we all feel like we're still 20- or 30-something. My feeling about the cane is similar to that dichotomy. On the inside, I still feel fairly young and sexy. On the outside . . . well that's a different story!!!
I don't write this for sympathy. Really. I just want you to know that the cane is a fact of life for me these days. I'm no different than I was two months ago when I didn't use the cane daily. And if you see me humming a little tune while walking along, you can bet your sweet bippy that it's "I'm too sexy for my cane, too sexy for my cane. Too sexy . . ." Just wink and smile!
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