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You are only young once, but you can stay immature indefinitely.
~Ogden Nash
First you forget names; then you forget faces; then you forget to zip up your fly; and then you forget to unzip your fly.
~Branch Rickey
For those with a few minutes...
GETTING OLD
by Norm Wallen
This is about one (male) person's experience with getting old. I don't know whether it fits anyone else, but I don't think that I'm (that) unique. I don't much like caveats, but here's one anyway. I've read little of burgeoning literature on aging - for two reasons: one is my propensity for denial - which I'll get to presently - the other is that when I have read some it made me want to vomit.
So, what follows is my understanding of what has happened to me. I hope you find it useful; if not, at least entertaining. If neither, well - to hell with you.
My old age started at 60. Well, almost. My 50th birthday was awful but the metaphor soon passed and my attitude remained basically denial. I know denial is supposed to be unhealthy - leading to all kinds of unconscious irrational side effects. Actually, I believe it's true, but what is overlooked are its advantages - in relation to aging. Consider the alternatives: compensation and acceptance. Compensation says, Okay, so I can't do what I used to; I'll do other things instead. Bullshit! Basketweaving instead of basketball? Hiking instead of skiing? Ping-pong instead of racquetball? Repairing the bird feeder instead of the roof? Forget it!
Acceptance. Even worse. Just eat it, fella. Don't mind that you can't do what gave you joy. Accept the fact that it's over - or almost. Why? So you can drift, uncomplaining into becoming a vegetable? Or so you can appreciate the delights of aging? Fine - what are they? Sit back and bask in your accomplishments. Great, if you are sufficient fool to really believe it. In reality, our triumphs, if any, are trivial. Especially in an era when nothing is sacred. Who knows whether science is - finally - a good thing? Whether what we have tried to teach, as teachers, parents, friends, or citizens, has any real value? Good Lord, even making money is no longer universally worshipped. We can, being human, kid ourselves into comfort - but for how long? Better to deny those protesting muscles and neurons and keep on keeping on. The joy is, after all, in the anticipation and the doing, not the reminiscence.
Up to a point. My point was around 60. Denial finally failed me. I could no longer switch quickly from one topic to another; I had to recognise the slippage. Naturally, I saw it first in others - "Come on John, we decided that 15 minutes ago!" Getting up to make a point and finding the words wouldn't come. Next, the body. Packing and moving put the final touches on my unsuspected sciatica, curse of the careless. Screw denial, this hurts. Not a whole lot; just enough. So, now what? I really don't regret my denial strategy though I might have paid a little more attention to my body. There's nothing I could have done about my brain.
It seems I have no choice but to pay attention, pace myself, parcel out my physical and mental energy and try not to do anything too stupid. I want to be able to walk in the wilderness, to participate in the world and to copulate once in awhile without seizing up.
There are a few good things. I no longer have to compete, to prove anything and that's a relief. Time with children and friends is good but never enough (the endless wail of us seniors). There is satisfaction in achieving, at last, a sizable measure of marital understanding. And there is considerable pleasure in getting away with speaking my mind. You really can get away with a lot once you acquire "old fart" status. Just think how marvelous it would be if AARP became "Old Farts United" (and quit selling out).
I figure another ten reasonably good years. Unavoidable deterioration but, hopefully, no major catastrophe. After 75 scares me. Not dying, mostly. Every so often the thought terrifies me; none of the available condolences works and I can't conceive of being non-existent. But most of the time I accept (how about that?) the inevitable. What really scares me is the prospect of living my last few years and dying the way my parents did. I would like to age gracefully, as I imagine Katherine Hepburn and William 0 Douglas have, and as a woman I know actually did. I would like to tell my experiences in a useful way as Indian elders are supposed to. And I want to know when I have become a burden to those who love me. Long before the catheters, forced feeding and all the rest Long before it costs somebody $3,000 a month to keep me in one of those nursing facilities where the only signs of real life (in a good one!) are among the staff. And this when we have children going to bed hungry! I want to know when I can no longer feel joy or produce it in others, and I want to be able to end it with dignity. God forbid a mind-destroying tumor or stroke (or whatever) that modern medicine is so pleased to deter from its natural course. I have long thought the "primitives" knew better. When you can't keep up, be left with a blanket, a little food and some dope. Since we are too civilised for this, maybe denial - to the end - makes more sense.
Source: Anderson Valley Advertiser, Boonville, California 94515 30 August 1995
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