From Your Minister
Podcast: Download (Duration: 6:37 — 6.1MB)
Subscribe: More
Some identities, like being a student or a resident in a particular place, come and go. Others are with you for life. Still others you find yourself easing into and becoming more and more familiar with. For me, right now, aging is one of those gradual ones I find myself thinking more about. I’m in my 60s now. People in their 60s used to be old in my mind—but I find that the word “old” really tends to mean people who are older than I am. It’s not a fixed identity. Suddenly 60s seem like the prime of life!
I hated turning 50. My women friends wanted me to have a croning ceremony, but that was annoying to me. I adopted a child at 40 and I was tired of people thinking I was the grandmother. At the urging of a friend who insisted I should have some kind of ritual, I honored the date in the most honest way I could: I gathered a circle of friends and then climbed under a table with a tablecloth over it and said, “I don’t want to be 50! Tell me why I should come out!” Friends in their 50s then began to tell me what they liked about it—the increased confidence, the sense of not worrying so much about what other people thought. Finally, bored and sweaty, I emerged, still ambivalent but willing to face facts (and some late arrivers who looked stunned to have walked in on the middle of this).
I had no such difficulty turning 60. Rather, I felt invigorated and excited about it. For one thing, there were discounts attached to the number, and I’m cheap. For another thing, my kid was pretty much grown up and avoiding me anyway, so no one thought we were related at all on a daily basis, and so I wasn’t hearing all those grandma comments.
And I’ve loved my 60s. The confidence remains, and the sense of having nothing left to prove. There is an ease and self-acceptance which is a blessing I wish I could have received earlier, about everything from my body to my inevitable blunders and errors.
But being old…this is kind of a new identity that’s creeping up on me, and it seems to be getting stronger. For one thing, no one is left in my family who is older than me. Parents, aunts, uncles, grandparents—no one of the older generations serves as a barrier between me and death. For another thing, conversation at parties and social gatherings among my longtime friends is beginning to turn to their retirement plans. Things like Medicare and Social Security are no longer just social issues, but rather are practical topics, as people compare and contrast options and plans. And, then there’s the matter of my body, which is no longer remotely drawn to late night dances or parties or even movies. Sleepy now, thank you very much.
And I’m beginning to wonder and fantasize about my next stage of life. Growing old is an exciting prospect to me because I have great role models for it. Though my mother died ridiculously young from ovarian cancer, my grandmother lived to 106 and enjoyed every minute of it. She eloped at 76, and promptly bought a trailer truck with her new love and hit the road. She continued to travel into her 90s, and planted gardens and got a 30-year mortgage at 82. (She had temporarily moved into a retirement home but found the people there politically incompatible.) She wrote fiery letters to the editor and otherwise behaved in ways I intend to imitate. When she turned 105, she said sadly to me, “Oh, to be 100 again!”
I was reminded of her recently talking to longtime CLF member Jeanne Beatty, who lives up in Alberta, Canada. At 98, Jeanne has been a member of CLF for 50 years. When I told Jeanne I’d be camping in Jasper Park this summer, she said it was only about 4 hours from where she lives and she’d drive over to see me. I was taken aback. “But Jeanne,” I said, “you can’t camp at 98!” “Why not?” she demanded. “I’ve got it on my calendar!” We’ll see if it works out, but I love her spirit!
With great role models like Jeanne and so many of you, “old age” becomes something to look forward to. But not for everyone. I was talking recently with another friend who, at 95, said he wants only to die. He said he’s not in pain, just tired, and he feels like “a waste of space.” I will admit that this upset me. My immediate, blurted out, response clearly surprised him. “I didn’t know you were that much of a capitalist!” I said. “Like you’re only valuable because of what you produce? I thought you knew better than that! You’re valuable because so many of us love you!” He laughed and said he didn’t believe me, but that it was a kind thing to say.
But I wasn’t kidding; I meant it. I love that man dearly, and his loss on the planet will be a sad day for me. Still, I know that the death of his wife and other beloved friends has left him feeling alone. I hear from many of you about the loss of your “other half” and I know that the blow this deals is immeasurable. And aging, grief and loss do seem to come as a package deal.
And yet, my grandmother, and Jeanne, and so many of you inspire me about the possibilities of old age precisely because despite so much loss all around you, you find new ways to love and be loved, new people and places and relationships. I can only hope that I embrace my old age with a fraction of the zeal you show for it.
- From Your Minister - July 1, 2020
- From Your Minister - June 1, 2020
- From Your Minister - May 1, 2020
