Read Online Don't Tell Me I Can't Do It! by Erica Miller - Free Book Online Page A

to safety. As we exit, the roof over our bedroom collapses, charring our massive bed to ashes in seconds. (Later I would learn from the fire marshal that, had both of us been in the same deep sleep Jerrywas enjoying in the middle of the night, we would have burned to death. How ironic that would have been— narrowly escaping the Nazi crematorium as a child only to perish as an adult in the furnace of my own American home!)
    Our neighbors, roused by the commotion, meet us in the front yard, offering blankets, comfort, and coffee. As we stand watching the fire enveloping and destroying our beautiful home and its precious contents, mental images of all the furniture, dishes, pictures, and other treasured memorabilia Jerry and I had collected over a lifetime pass before my eyes. I begin to comprehend the fierce devastation of having to start all over again, the terrible loss of things I know we can never replace.
    Suddenly, the survivor in me kicks in. It’s not we who are burning. Jerry and I are safe, truly safe. It’s just our things that are burning. Just things. We entered the world naked, and one day—thankfully not tonight— we’ll leave the world in kind. All at once I’m overwhelmed with gratitude instead of desolation: I’m so lucky to have the gift of life a bit longer. We’re alive, and that’s all that matters.
    I believe I was meant to survive the hell of that early morning conflagration for one very specific reason: to celebrate life and to spread optimism and goodwill in my world a bit longer, until the day death finally catches up with me. Having experienced so many blessings in my life—and having seen so much suffering at the hands of selfish, cruel people—I feel compelled to spend my days promoting others’ longevity and vitality. We are our brothers’ and sisters’ keepers, after all! I believe very strongly in tikkun olam, a phrase my people use to describe our shared responsibility for “repairing the world.” We do this by giving back through community service, doing our part to make our world a better place to live. It’s a way of recognizing that life is a gift and a stewardship: We’re accountable for what we choose to do with the time and resources destiny places in front of us. We can choose to squander them, or we can redeem them for the good of ourselves and others. That’s tikkun olam.
    At eighty years old, I’m still in the prime of my life, and I remain open to all kinds of new ventures that may come along before I fade away at the ripe old age of one hundred-plus years. I still have plenty of time to spendrepairing my corner of the world, because, for me, age is irrelevant. I can’t and won’t be defined by my age and its prescribed limitations. I certainly don’t intend to let society dictate when, how, or what I should be doing at any stage of my life. Don’t tell me I can’t do it!
    I frequently lecture and facilitate workshops on the psychological aspects of aging, or, more specifically, on the art of aging with gusto. My audiences include young and old alike, and I encourage people at both ends of the spectrum to adopt the attitude that they will live long and live well. At the same time, I like to make sure that the more senior members of the group understand that their limitations are all too frequently self-imposed. Sure, there are some things that become more difficult and more dangerous with age, but I’ve found that most seniors settle for a personal life standard well below what they are capable of achieving. They succumb to the lie that they’re past their usefulness, too old to do anything meaningful for themselves or for others, a burden to be patiently tolerated until death takes its toll. This is self-imposed ageism.
    Nonsense, I say! It’s not about what we did or didn’t do with the time that’s already come and gone, whetherwe’re ninety years old or only twenty. It’s about recognizing that life is to be lived now—not in the past, and not