Growing Older
May 9, 2008 by Guestwriter
By Bob Chrisman
Last fall, determined to catch the color changes in the leaves, I watched them turn from green to yellow, orange, and red. I would sit on the window seat in the front room and write about the colors.
One day…suddenly it seemed…the leaves had all turned. When did it happen? I had been watching everyday.
I sat in the window seat even more determined to watch the leaves fall. Occasionally a leaf would let go of the branch and float to the ground to join other leaves. I didn’t remember all of those leaves on the ground yesterday. Did they fall during the night so no one would realize that winter waited around the corner?
One morning I looked out and found that almost all of the leaves lay in yards and in the street. Again I had missed the time it happened.
Growing older has worked just like that. One day I noticed a gray hair. The next day a whole head of gray hair greeted me as I looked in the bathroom mirror. A single wrinkle on my forehead disappeared among the many lines that developed overnight. My varicose vein on my right thigh became a veritable road map of veins. My waistline doubled in size.
I felt old, but only in my body. Then older crept into my mind.
A few months before I retired, an employee appeared in my office. “Great music. Who is it?”
“Petula Clark.”
“Soooooooo? Is she from your generation?” My generation? I recoiled at the idea that I had joined a generation.
“Don’t you remember ‘Downtown’? ‘The Other Man’s Grass is Always Greener’?” I searched my mind for other titles.
She put her hands on her hips. “No, I don’t know her. And don’t you dare ask me where I was when John Kennedy was assassinated. I wasn’t even born yet.”
Thus I came to the knowledge that many of my cultural references meant nothing to a lot of the people who worked with me. I had grown old.
I never thought I would live past 40, but that birthday came and went. Turning 50 changed the way I viewed myself. No longer young, middle age had overtaken me. I celebrated the 56th anniversary of my birth last Saturday. I may live to see 60.
I am older.
But, you know what? I like it. Despite the aches in my joints when the weather turns damp and cool like today, not feeling like a part of the current culture frees me to do what I want to do without worrying about what other people will think of me. Maybe this “getting older” thing will free me from most of my inhibitions.
The rules have changed. I am old and can do what I want with my life. I don’t have family to account to. My friends won’t be surprised by what I do (well, most of them won’t).
Because I am older, I know now that I have a very short time to live. I must get on with my life’s purpose (whatever that may be), not because I’m desperate, but because I want to do the things I came to do. I want to live each moment regardless of how many I may have left.
Older has become the sand rushing downward through the neck of the hour glass. Older has restored the preciousness of this life. Older is what I am right now.
Older.
Bob Chrisman is a Kansas City, Missouri writer whose piece Hands, about his mother’s hands, appeared last month on red Ravine. Growing Older is based on a writing practice that Bob did on WRITING TOPIC - GROWING OLDER.
I wondered where Bob were going with this when I read the opening the first time I read this piece , but then the transition to noticing hair slowly turn gray was so lovely. Bob is so on target in his description about the changes in your body, the cultural references (my next-door neighbor who is half my age can’t name all the Beatles) and the determination to press on toward your life’s purpose (whatever that may be). I have those exact feelings and thoughts. I, too, want to press on toward my life’s purpose and realize more and more the older I get that it has so little to do with power and money.
I recently read the following description of growing older in the poet Lucia Perillo’s book of essays, “I’ve Heard the Vultures Singing”: “Time shuttles us from station to station like a train, and I wonder how it does the job so quietly, without the start-up moan and the screech of brakes.” Very much like the leaves changing color.
I remember clearly last October while walking my dog in the woods how beautiful the trees were. I stopped and thought, “If I’m lucky, I only have 30-35 more Fall seasons in my life.” I acknowledged that I was on the downward slope toward fewer fall seasons. I stood there and cried for a bit. And then I simply walked on.
Bob, I LOVED Petula Clark back then. Remember, Don’t Sleep in the Subway Darlin’, Don’t Stand In the Pouring Ra-a-a-a–i–n by Petula? It was kind of an obscure one. (Remember they used to call her Pet?) I wonder if she’s still around the music scene. If she is, I wouldn’t be surprised if she popped up on American Idol as one of the mentors. Lulu (To Sir With Love) was on there last year!
When I just read this piece again, it struck me how comfortable you seem with where you are right now. Like you’re coming to an acceptance around the aging process. I’ve noticed that, too, over the last 3 or 4 years. I’m thankful for that. Because it seems like a waste of time to worry too much about it. The aging process is going to go on with or without me.
That said, I do want to admit that sometimes when I stop to take a long look in the mirror, I scare myself. I just don’t feel as old inside as my body and face look on the outside. Sometimes I actually jump when I see my reflection.
I really like the part about how freeing it is to live outside of peer and societal pressures to slow down or change the aging process. It IS very freeing. But not everyone chooses to do that. Do you have any insights about why some grow to accept the aging body and mind, and other’s want to change it, to stop or slow down the process?
I loved the gentle truth in the metaphors of leaves turning colors and leaves falling off the branches to the dawning that one is growing older. Even your voice carries that slow cadence of how the aging process happens.
These two lines are profound: Older has become the sand rushing downward through the neck of the hour glass. Older has restored the preciousness of this life.
I’m now at that place before 50, right before it’s going to hit me. Wow, older. I think I’m still clinging to a particular youth, kind of pushing away the generational labels. It’s an interesting place to be. I feel like I’m straddling.
I have watched some acquaintances fight the aging process without much success and end up in despair over the fact that they look older. Plastic surgery doesn’t work forever. Tummy tucks and butt lifts don’t either. I think these people have fallen victim to the culture’s focus on the young. Ironic, isn’t it, that at a time when the majority of people in the U.S. will be in their 50’s and 60’s that we are still idealizing youth and young people?
I think that people at peace with themselves can accept the aging body and mind as a part of the life process. Focus on the moment. That’s all we really have.
I also remember my friends who have died before they turned 55. I know that some of them would have loved to be older and alive even if that meant being older. I am grateful for the time.
About Petula Clark, she is still alive and singing. In 1998 Queen Elizabeth made her a Commander of the Order of the British Empire (CBE). She has her own fan site on the web (petnet). I had forgotten the story about her NBC special when she and Harry Belafonte sang a duet and she touched him. One of the sponsors of the show wanted a re-take of the duet without her (a white woman) touching him (a black man). To her credit she and her producer husband destroyed all the other takes of the duet and wouldn’t delete the touch…the first between races on TV. It aired nationwide in 1968 and won several national awards.
Sharonimo,
The poet, Lucia Perillo, captured the moment so beautifully. I will have to add her to my list of poets I must read. Thanks for the quote.
At times I feel the sadness that I have fewer seasons to experience than I already have enjoyed. At the same time it makes the ones I have so priceless. Walk on, dear friend.
I am reminded of an old hymn we sang in the church of my childhood, “Work for the night is coming when man works no more.” I think of the chorus to this hymn when I don’t want to write and then I sit down and write.
ybonesy,
Jump into the pool of older! The water is warm and gentle and you have many friends who are already here to catch you. Or wait awhile, but know that we will still be here waiting for you to join us when you decide to jump.
Bob, I didn’t know that about Petula Clark and Harry Belafonte (Comment #4). She took a stand. I’ll have to check out her fan site. She was really popular back then. It’s good to hear she is still going strong (and a CBE to boot).
I’m thinking now about pushing away generational labels, as ybonesy mentions. I still did that in my 40’s, too. Something happened when I moved into the 50’s. Perspective changed somehow. The 40’s are a time of a lot of transition and discovery about what’s important to us. I liked my 40’s. But I feel more solid in who I am in my 50’s. I haven’t thought yet about being 60. I might save that for a few years down the road.
Oh, I love this post, Bob. I, too, have tried so many times to witness the changing of the seasons…really focusing on the leaves. And then suddenly, they’ve changed. We don’t have leaves in Minnesota, yet, so I’m doing it right now. I was glad to hear that even your watching at the window didn’t help. I know it isn’t just me.
When I see someone older than me embracing aging (not coloring their hair, not wearing their daughter’s fashions, not trying to talk like they’re 20), I honestly find them so much more beautiful. Jamie Lee Curtis was on an AARP cover recently with a graying head of hair. It looked beautiful.
And, like you, I love not having to pretend for my peers. There are a lot of high school and college students who work seasonally at the State Fair. I often watch them moving in packs, laughing at the same jokes, needing to feel and look the same as everyone else. I don’t miss it.
I can tell you don’t, either.
well, I am from KC also–I thought all the old people lived in Independence.
good piece, enjoyed it
Bob, great piece; & I especially like what you added in comment #6, about assurance to others that “older” doesn’t have to mean “worse,” but hopefully means “better” and that there are lots of us that are already there, and doing just fine, thank you!
I decided on adding a new career to my retirement years, and it is rewarding. The opportunity was serendipitous, and I did ponder the decision to begin something new, “at my age,” but I love what I’m doing now. My “boss,” is a woman young enough to be my daughter, and I did have one rude awakening when, about a year ago, during a converstion with her. I foolishly said, “I don’t think I look almost 70, do you?”
She got a “deer in the headlights” look in her eyes and didn’t even answer! But I realized that WAS her answer…she didn’t need to add words. I might not have thought I looked my age, but obviously I do. Oh well, it doesn’t bother me. One of the nicest compliments I ever received was years ago, when I was driving a car full of teens to a theatrical “gig”, and we were having a great time. One of them said, “Oh, Mrs.
—-, you’re just a teeanager in a middle aged body!”
Or, as I tell my brother, who, at age 74, still enjoys riding his motor bike up steep hills in California, “You may grow old, but I don’t think you’ll ever grow up!”
My wish for any and all is that you remain young in your mind and spirit…that’s where it counts most of all!
Scot, we old people in KC need to get out more and show ourselves. Glad you enjoyed the piece.
Oliverowl, my guess would be that your “boss” was stunned to realize that someone 70 years old could look as good as you do. Such prejudice exists in our culture about getting “old” that people picture those of us over 50 as decrepit, sickly creatures in wheelchairs with our legs covered in blankets to keep us warm. The fact that we enjoy life (in many ways that young people cannot because of their youth), ride our motor bikes up hills (when we should confine ourselves to riding in flat parking lots), can relate to younger people (despite our advanced ages), and live life to the fullest (at a time we should be concentrating on dying) flies in the face of assumptions made about “old” people.
I like to think that I am old in mind and spirit but more fully alive in every aspect than I have ever been in my life.
Loved this, Bob. Watching the leaves slowly change color, die and fall to the ground. If only I felt as comfortable with myself doing the same.
Some days, I am grateful not to be sub-40. I dont miss the predatory glances, hoots, and howls from men on the street. I love that I am much more of a smart ass at 60 than Ive ever been before. Im stronger now in every way than I was before I turned 40. I love that. I wouldnt trade that strength for a younger body or face.
- and yet as you know I am one of those who gave into the cultural pressure (even though, yeah, I do know better) and had my face lifted. I had wanted to do it for years. It was like an itch. So now, five months later, that itch is gone, and that is worth something, I suppose. But I look in the mirror and, guess what? I am still 60, and still look older than I feel. Do I wish I hadnt spent all that time and money? Yeah, I suppose, maybe. And yet, in a way, it has helped me relax some about getting old. (Not just older, but old.) I wont be doing any more plastic surgeries. There isnt any way not to fade and eventually fall off the branch. Some days I accept that, feel as comfortable as a leaf about it. Other days, I want to do that “rage rage against the dying of the light” routine. I am in love with life and I guess the face lift was a dramatic way to try to hang onto it. What I really want is to be wide awake until the instant I die. I want to finish my book and figure out what else Im about. I want lots of time to be with my children and grandchildren, my dogs. I want to live long enough to see what all of them do with their lives, how their stories turn out.
There is no surgical cure for loss. I think maybe I should embroider that on a piece of muslin and hang it on my bedroom wall so I dont forget again.
Bob, What a wonderful read! So much of what you wrote about rings true to me! I did my own writing practice on the posts on growing older many weeks ago. I was so surprised to reread my own practice a week later & discover that much of it was written about the younger people in my life & how much older that they have become.
I will be 53 in less than a month. My husband turned 50 this year. I think I got my greatest compliment from a 4 year old just yesterday. My husband & I were babysitting for 2 of our granson’s step brothers. My husband had gone to the restroom & the 4 year old asked me where my “Dad” went! What a hoot!
I like the season changing direction this read went. When did it happen? Time flies by & we make the best of it. It might feel as though it happened overnight, but truth is we are as young as we feel. A cliche, I know, but oh so true! I don’t dwell on my own aging process. What a miserable person I would be if I did so. I make the most of every day that I am rewarded with. I am happier than I have ever been in my life!
Great read! D
This was lovely, Bob. I have noticed the growing older phenomenon, although I’m 20 years younger than you. The people I work with don’t understand my cultural references. I talk of 80s television and realize they were toddlers, if they were even yet born.
Growing older has let me put unimportant things aside. I haven’t gotten to the point of wearing black socks with sandals, as my old man did, but I care less about being a fashion plate.
jude,
As you know I have opinions about everything, but those are for my own life only. You wanted a face lift. You got one. You learned something. Enough said.
We do rage against the dying light instead of living our lives. I find myself doing that sometimes, but I hope that I am getting away from that rage more and more. You will be able to tell me.
alittlediddy,
With my age came a new awareness of the precisouness of my life. I don’t want to feel young. I want to be aware and to be in the moment as much as possible. Those times are when I am the most alive.
Thanks for commenting. By the way, Happy Birthday!
Stevo,
You will know that you have given up “fashion plate” status when you wear black socks with sandals AND plaid shorts with a white tee shirt. That time will come. Thanks for the comments.
Jude, I loved the honesty of your comment (#12):
I look in the mirror and, guess what? I am still 60, and still look older than I feel. Do I wish I hadnt spent all that time and money? Yeah, I suppose, maybe. And yet, in a way, it has helped me relax some about getting old. (Not just older, but old.) I wont be doing any more plastic surgeries. There isnt any way not to fade and eventually fall off the branch. Some days I accept that, feel as comfortable as a leaf about it. Other days, I want to do that “rage rage against the dying of the light” routine. I am in love with life and I guess the face lift was a dramatic way to try to hang onto it. What I really want is to be wide awake until the instant I die.
I had not thought of the cosmetic changes as a way to try to hang on to a love of life, to be wide awake to it. It opens a new door to think of it that way. A fresh perspective. And it illuminates all the complicated reasons that people elect to change how they look as they age.
I only now had a chance to catch up on reading some of the later comments on this post. Great comments.
Jude, your comment reminded me of something I’ve heard Natalie Goldberg say about writing (and other writers, too), which is Writing won’t save your life. A face lift won’t save your life. Except I like your saying better ; - ). I think you should hang it somewhere. Oh, I also want to say is, you sound much at peace with your decision in spite of what you know about it. That seems to be the best place to be with it all. Older and wiser.
Oh, and diddy, I laughed out loud at the 4-year-old’s comment. How funny!
Bob, thank you so much for being our latest guest writer. I loved seeing how you took this writing practice in the direction of you, yourself, getting older.
Our other “Growing Older” guest writer talked about her mother growing older. I’ve said this before but I’ll say it again, I always love to see where the topics take each writer. (Or, I guess I should say, where the writers take each topic…
Hey, I don’t recall you wearing black socks with sandals at the Taos retreats, although I fondly recall your crocs. I had a pair of pink ones, and weren’t yours a sort of bright yellow? Now I’m trying to remember.
I’ve always loved it when any person can be just himself or herself with respect to fashion. Women are often out there with our clothes — I think we have a lot of freedom in that respect. I’m not sure if it’s easy or not for men; I get the sense it might be harder.
Hey, any tattoos on the horizon?
Yes, ybonesy, my crocs are yellow. I have a pair of lavender ones for around the house and yard.
Funny you should ask about tattoos as I have been thinking of getting one. I can’t decide between discreet or bold. Will tell you if I go ahead with the idea. And piercing, don’t forget piercing.
P.S. I would never wear black socks with sandals because black socks show too much dirt and dust.
Ah, it was Stevo who would wear black socks with sandals. Yeah, I would think that’d be a deadly combination.
I vote for bold tattooing. If you’re gonna go through the pain, do it big. Live large, in other words. But that’s just me.