“Would you like to renew for six years or eight?”

The woman behind the counter was pleasant and efficient. She walked me through each step of the process, asked a few questions and answered all of mine, checked that I had the required identification, gave the eye test, took my picture and payment, and issued me an enhanced driver’s license. I opted for renewal in eight years.

I received my driving permit when I was sixteen. My patient dad had me out on the road every day. I learned the ropes on calm New Jersey side streets, graduated to busy highways and, on Dad’s insistence, maneuvered through the congestion of New York City traffic. I learned to parallel park. The day after my 17th birthday, I was issued my first driver’s license and have renewed or replaced it in different states ever since. Now I was upgraded to enhanced.

So, home I went with my new license certification (the real one will come in the mail). I shared the procedure with my spouse who’ll be renewing in a few months. “It’s easy, just remember to bring your up-to-date passport, car registration, birth certificate,” I said. Hubby looked at my new license. “I see you renewed for eight years. That’s 2032. Do you know how old you’ll be in 2032?”

Jim (a retired chemist) is a fact-based man. Facts are good, they’re necessary, but there are times when reality shared without filters by one person is quite annoying to another. It may not change the facts, but sometimes a person should keep said truths to themselves — like the time Jim (a math whiz) agreed to tutor me (a right-brained person) in algebra. He opened the book to the first chapter, did a quick scan and said, “Oh, no problem, this stuff is easy.”

And now he was educating me on how old I’ll be when my new driver’s license expires.

I hadn’t given the age thing any thought. I was just happy to have passed the vision test and the questions asked. But now that my facts guy has schooled me on the inevitability of getting old, I decided to acknowledge a few of the good realities to savor, enjoy, and nurture as I stay the course for the next eight years.

Aging will continue to add more gray hairs, wrinkles, and aches and pains, but there’s also the addition of beautiful great-grandchildren. Each day brings the opportunity to foster self-care. Good health practices are wise with aging. There’s yoga, walking for heart and mind, light weight training, maybe a fitness class, keeping to a healthy diet. Yes, I will go to the dentist. And it’s true, a phone chat with a friend can make the day.

Pets are a positive fact of life for me. As long as I’m able, I will have critters. It warms my heart to see a frightened animal I’ve adopted thrive with love and care. And the returned companionship is irreplaceable.

There’s nothing like a cup of coffee with a gal pal I haven’t seen in a while, or an unexpected visit from one of my kiddos. And a meal out with my factual sweetie warms my heart. I know that I will work to seek out the good stuff even on the hard days, because on one of my hardest days I was reminded that no matter how difficult life’s truths can be, we aren’t alone on this aging journey.

I had lost someone dear. Spirit broken, stripped of all ego I stepped out onto the deck. The orange of a dazzling morning sun peeking through towering pines gelled with purple lilac, sweeping me in. I was separate from familiar earth, yet more connected than I had ever been. From deep within, my being merged as one with verdant trees and coral sky, tawny brown dirt, and gray pebbles glistening beneath pond ripples. The new forsythia blooms blinded with brilliant yellow, and I was every color, every red flower, every pink bud, every green leaf. I felt it was a vivid healing kinship and, in fact, it was.

One last thing, in 2032 I’ll be older than I am now and that’s the truth.

Carole Marshall is a former columnist and feature writer for a national magazine. She’s had stories published in Chicken Soup for the Soul books and has written two novels and one fitness book. Reach her at cmkstudio2@gmail.