Some thoughts on aging

 

Me and my big brother.
Both of us aging pretty well. Suppose it's the genes? 

This morning a friend of mineposted in her blog about what some experts are calling the Third Age of life—thatperiod after the kids are grown and gone and retirement has either come or islooming. Men and women are living longer now than they did fifty years ago. Theaverage life span is seventy-four for men and seventy-nine for woman in the UnitedStates. That’s up a lot over, say 1950, when it was sixty-eight for men, butthe figures dropped during Covid and still have not completely recovered.Still, Americans need to think about their plans for this new Third Age.Instead of seeing it as a time of declining powers, we have to approach thoseempty years with enthusiasm and a will to fill them with new activities. TheThird Age is a time for fulfillment of all that has gone before in anindividual life.

That whole concept struck mebecause it reinforced some things I think—like opportunities for growth in theThird Age. Retired now for twelve years, I have continued to write, although I’mnot sure I’d say I’ve done my best writing during this period. Pretty much, Ithink I approach my life now with enthusiasm and greet each day waiting for theopportunities it will bring. But I also think I’m a mixed bag of thoughts. Somedays, when I can’t do something or feel it isn’t working right---all writershave those days!—I think to myself, “It’s okay. You’re eighty-five. Cutyourself some slack.” I suspect that’s not a helpful—or healthy—attitude. I amthinking here of mental rather than actual physical health. Giving myself apass on a mental or intellectual problem because of my age is not okay—it’sjust a way to accelerate aging.

The Third Age is a time offreedom—free, mostly we hope, from the financial strain of raising andeducating children, perhaps from the mortgage for a too-big suburban house, fromthe pressure to succeed. For me, that means I’m free to fall down a lot ofrabbit holes—if something irrelevant to anything I’m doing interests me, I canfollow up on it. IF I read something about a historical incident I never knewbefore, I can do some online investigating; if a Ruth Reichl column inspiresme, I can look at the historical recipes she references. It’s sort of a will o’the wisp approach, but ten years ago I’d have scolded myself for wasting time.Not now. Every new fact I learn, every new thing that interests me keeps mybrain functioning.

Of course there are somethings I cannot do these days that ten years ago I could—walk withoutassistance, reach things above the first shelf on a kitchen cabinet, twist offsome jar and bottle caps, etc. It’s legitimate for me to ask for help on thosethings because I cannot physically do them—a weird hip replacement and tornrotator cuffs on both shoulders limit me. But I also tend to throw my hands upin the air at the slightest financial problem and refer it to my son before Itry to figure it out myself. Not cool. I need to watch daily that I do not letmy mind slip into laziness.

I know a lot of the elderly(yes, that’s me) focus on their health. Have you ever listened to old folkschat? Way too much of it is about symptoms and health problems, imagined orreal, limitations, and—yes, great sighs over what they cannot do. I haveavoided that by going to the other extreme and ignoring minor problems whichturned into major ones that I should have paid attention to (why I’m on awalker). I am, to my discredit, the opposite of the little boy who cried “Wolf!”too often. But I do not want to live the last trimester of my life spending mydays in one doctor’s office after another. I have a sort of innocent healththeory—if certain signs are okay, if my nails and hair are growing and I amregular, I figure my body is functioning, and I can pretty much ignore othersmall symptoms. Yes, I do all the preventive things—skin check, mammogram,cardiologist once a year, nephrologist once a year, etc. But child ofosteopathic medicine that I am, I prefer to think in terms of health ratherthan illness. On a wellness scale of one to ten, with ten being the highest, Iwould put myself at a seven because that’s the way I feel. My doctor mightdisagree, but that’s okay.

I think aging, like a lot ofother things, depends on that now-hackneyed phrase: positive thinking. If yougo into that Third Age with enthusiasm for what you can do rather than regretsabout what you can’t, with a determination to be as healthy as the good Lordpermits, with joy in the moment rather than regret for the past, the Third Agecan be a wonderful experience. In many ways, I am more content now than I haveever been in my life. I’ve known mountain peaks of happiness and passion,valleys of despair, the joy of young children, the satisfaction of professionalaccomplishment—and now those are all memories I treasure. But they are not thestuff of my daily life. And that’s okay. I’m eighty-five, alive and healthy andinvolved in life.