One Day, We Won’t Be Able to Do This Anymore

What floating in a pool taught me about joy, aging, and dressing like a disco ball on a Tuesday.

Maybe movement isn’t about perfection. Maybe it’s about floating around dramatically until clarity shows up. Photo courtesy: Amy Luter

The thought hit me in the pool the other day, unexpected, a little haunting, and weirdly motivating:

One day, we won’t be able to do this anymore.

We won’t always be able to move the way we do now. The joints that feel fine today might ache tomorrow. The energy we take for granted won’t always be there. Floating in that still water, it landed on me like a truth I’d known but never really accepted: this—this ability to move, to dance, to stretch, to bounce around in the pool like a weirdo—isn’t promised.

So why do we wait? Why do we only move with intention when it’s about shrinking our bodies? Why aren’t we just moving our bodies to just…move? To feel your limbs still working. To know your knees aren’t crackling (yet). To dance in the kitchen on a random Tuesday morning just because you can.

I used to work out to lose weight. That was the goal. Smaller was the goal. But something’s shifted. Now, I want to walk because my legs work. I want to stretch because my back doesn’t hurt (yet). I want to feel strong, not to look a certain way, but because I still get to feel that way.

And I want to wear what I want to wear while I still can. Wild pants. Sequined dresses. Sky-high butterfly heels that make no sense but make me smile. I don’t want to live in laundry-day tees like it’s a personality. I want joy. Color. Chaos. Purpose.

And yes, I know I can wear sequined dresses at any age—so why am I lumping them in with “one day we won’t be able to do this anymore”? Because one day, we won’t. Not in the same way. Not with the same body. Not with the same spark—or at all.

And that’s the truth we try not to say out loud: one day, we’ll be gone. And I want to wear the loud dress before then. Not just because it’s easy or appropriate or makes sense—but because I’m here. And getting dressed is one of the ways I remind myself of that.

So, I want to wear what I want to wear throughout my life. Not just because it’s easy, but because it makes me feel alive. Getting dressed every day isn’t easy, but I like it. It’s a ritual. A form of expression. A little art project I get to walk around in.

And I need one element of chaos in every outfit or it just doesn’t feel right.

This all started while I was doing pool calisthenics—bouncing around telling my husband, “One day, we won’t be able to do this.” He reminded me that yes, we probably will, since water aerobics are kind of made for older adults. But still—the point stands.

One day, we won’t be able to do this anymore.

But today? Today, we still can.

So maybe that’s the whole thing. Don’t wait for the “perfect” moment. Celebrate that this is the moment. Move your body because it still moves. Wear the ridiculous outfit. Dance badly.

In my house, we don’t save the nice wine. We open it just because—with friends, with laughter, with no special occasion at all. Because what are we saving it for? Drink it while you can. Use the good china on a Monday night. Burn the fancy candle. Wear the expensive perfume to the grocery store.

Stop saving things for “someday.” Start celebrating now.

Because now is the gift. Now is the moment we have. And tomorrow? It’s not promised.

Drink the wine. Dance in the kitchen. Hug your people. Wear the sequins. Say the thing.

Because one day, we won’t be able to do this anymore.

But today, we still can.

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