Reflections on getting older in our society

I was listening to one of Oslo’s more well-known psychotherapists the other night on the nightly news; she was talking about the problem of aging in our society and how older people become ‘invisible’ as they age. She meant that both women and men felt this way, and she should know since she deals with both. I have written about this before; my mother used to say that she felt invisible as she got older—to the society around her, in the doctor’s office, and in her dealings with the bureaucracy that is supposed to help older people. My mother was not an aggressive soul, and often not even an assertive one. She accepted this type of behavior without reacting or fighting back. I doubt that I would be the same, but you never know what you will face as an older person. I have friends my age who are chronically ill, not old, and they complain about the same thing—they feel invisible, ignored, and that they should basically just stop bothering others and fade away. If I sort through their comments, I realize that much of what they comment on has to do with the loneliness associated with their illnesses. They feel abandoned, mostly by friends, sometimes by family. They have become immobile, they can no longer work or contribute to society in the ways to which they were accustomed. And today’s society will leave you in the dust as it pushes onward in its continual quest for more wealth, more material goods, and more consumerism. If you cannot produce for that society, or consume the products of that society, you have no role, really. Older people were once revered for their wisdom and experience; that is no longer the case, at least in Western society. They are more likely to be pushed out of their jobs once they turn sixty; they are considered burdensome to deal with in many cases. It occurred to me recently that old age is treated like a chronic illness in our society; older people are often shoved to the side, ignored, and abandoned to ‘their fate’, especially if they are alone. My mother did something about that; she volunteered at her local library (having been a librarian earlier in her life), and enjoyed that for most of her seventies. She worked there up until a few months before she died. But still, she often complained of loneliness and of 'not being seen'.

Many people fear getting older. I can understand why, because the society we live in worships youth and youthful attractiveness. You are considered attractive if you remain 'youthful-looking'. If you are attractive, you get 'noticed', you get 'seen'. You need only look at Facebook and the comments made about cover photos of women in their sixties whom others say still look like they did in high school. I hardly think that is the reality, but it doesn't matter. People still make these comments and I have to wonder why--why is it so important that older women look like they did in high school, and why are women flattered by these comments? These comments are not made so much about older men, but that is perhaps because men generally don't comment on such things. Women are told by society to be interested in how they look almost from the time they are pre-teenagers.

Society does not revere older people as once it did. It focuses solely on younger people and their contributions to society, workplaces, and culture. The media are to blame for much of this; articles about older artists, actors, actresses, workers, etc. are often few and far between. We have become an age-fixated society; you cannot read an article without being told how old someone is, and more often than not, if the article is about a woman, her age is usually mentioned as early as in the second sentence of the article. A man’s age is often not mentioned, or mentioned further down in the article. There is a certain amount of ‘surprise’ in some of these articles; surprise that this or that older person is still working, producing, contributing. It is strange sometimes to read these articles. They reinforce the fixation on age and the idea that the norm is that older people have stopped doing these things. Sometimes I wonder what has happened to this or that person since they are no longer written about, and then I remember, oh yes, that person is now ‘old’ by society’s definition. In other words, no longer media-worthy.

I used to think that old age meant age 70 or older. Old age includes anyone over 55 at present, at least in Scandinavia. There are many articles that talk about how employees who are 55 or older are offered ‘sluttpakker’ (severance packages) so that companies can hire younger people in their place. They don’t say that outright of course, but the intent is clear. And it is a way of getting rid of employees they feel cost the workplace too much. There is truth in that older people often have higher salaries than the younger people, but that is natural after a long work life. It is strange to think that we are living longer, but that the age for being considered old in a workplace has gotten lower. I don’t know what the solution is, but I do know that if society considers you to be old at 55, society is going to have a real problem with this portion of the population that can in theory live until they are well into their 80s.

The psychotherapist’s advice was that older people should ‘tar plass’ (literally take up space) in society. What she means is that older people should make themselves noticed, that they should announce their presence; that they should do everything within their power to not be ignored. This means that older people need to be more proactive about how they approach retirement and old age. They should not passively let society and the media define their roles in society. They should not let younger people dictate to them how they will function in society. They should not let themselves be treated as though getting older is an illness. Because it is not.

We need to be more accepting of life’s phases and to not be so afraid of aging. One thing is certain—everyone will get old at some point, and everyone will die at some point. The focus on ‘forever young’ may be in vogue, but if you take a look at some of the men and women who try desperately to remain youthful-looking via plastic surgery, you will learn quite quickly that it is better to age gracefully. With some few exceptions, most of those who have opted for extensive plastic surgery do not look younger, they look different; they do not look like themselves. I would not want to go into old age no longer looking like myself, but that is my choice. The psychotherapist said the same thing; she was not planning on using plastic surgery to remain young-looking. I applaud her. She will lead the way to something better, something healthier, than what we have in society now. When I remember the older people in my life who have passed away, I think of people whom I respect. I miss them, their wisdom, their patience, their kindness, and their civilized way of living. I miss their generation—the post WWII generation, the generation that sacrificed for a larger cause. They grew older with grace and with patience. They may not always have liked what was happening to them, but they accepted it and lived their lives as best they could. I want more respect for that approach in society. I want more kindness and more acceptance, on both sides. Everyone loses if the polarization of young versus old continues.

  

Remembering and becoming

When I started out in the work world over thirty-five years ago, I was fortunate enough to meet some very special people who became life-long friends. One of them was Edith, who was already in her mid-50s when I met her. She was the head secretary for the department I worked in at the Public Health Research Institute of the City of New York, and we became friends immediately. She was a friendly and outgoing woman who made everyone she met feel welcome and at home. I would say she was one of the most hospitable people I have ever known. She was a born and bred New Yorker who lived in Manhattan most of her life. She married and raised two children in a spacious apartment in the Stuyvesant Town–Peter Cooper Village, a large, post-World War II development of residential apartments on the east side of Manhattan. That apartment is where I visited her many times on my annual trips to New York, and it is where she suffered the stroke that eventually took her life at the age of 91. She had many opportunities to leave Manhattan, to move to the suburbs to be with her daughter and her daughter’s husband, but she chose not to. She remained independent until the day she died. I remember my last visit with her a few months before she passed away; she was waiting for me at the door of her apartment as I got off the elevator, and although she was very unsteady on her feet, she insisted on serving coffee and some pastries. And when I left her apartment a few hours later, she held onto my arm as we walked toward the door. Sometimes, before it got too difficult for her to walk, we would leave her apartment and walk to the nearby diner to have lunch--one of her favorite places because it made veggie burgers that were out of this world. And then we would walk slowly home again. It was always a bittersweet moment to say goodbye, much like when I said goodbye to my mother after one of my annual visits, not knowing if I would see them again, but hoping against hope that I would. Edith was a truly generous soul, who helped a lot of newcomers at work, who helped her children and grandchildren, and who took care of her husband who was afflicted with Alzheimer’s until she could no longer manage his care by herself. My memories of her are very pleasant; she and Virginia, another secretary at the institute and one of Edith’s close friends, both taught me how to make an apple-cranberry pie for the first Thanksgiving I ever prepared food for. It was the first such pie I had ever made; we made it at work during our lunch hour one dreary day in November, and I carried it home with me on the subway that evening. Unfortunately, I dropped the pie onto the subway platform and the glass pie plate shattered, and I ended up having to make the pie again when I got home. But at least I had learned how to do it. In return, I taught her how to use the newest word-processing program on her work computer. She was open to most new developments, was interested in the world around her, and very well-read. She loved to go to Shakespeare in the Park and to the opera and ballet. She and Virginia came to the church when I married for the first time (very young); when I later got divorced, she told me that it was no surprise to her, as she had not had a good feeling about my marriage from day one. She was honest that way, and it was good to hear it. If you asked for advice, you got it. I asked for advice when I needed it, because I knew it would be reasonable and smart.

I thought about Edith recently because I realized in one of those moments when certain insights make themselves known, that I have overtaken her role for some of the younger people I know, some of whom are at least twenty-five years younger than I am. The age difference between me and Edith was much larger, over thirty-five years, but it never bothered me. I hardly thought about it. That was the way I was raised. I had older parents and my relationship with the both of them was very good. They were my parents first, and then my friends. I assume that the younger people I know feel the same about me as I did about Edith; the age difference does not matter. Why should it? We are able to discuss books, music, movies and so many other things that interest us. I like a lot of the current music and literature; they like a lot of the music I grew up with, as well they should since it is really amazing music and an amazing era in which to grow up. We need role models to show us how to grow older. I had them, and I hope that I can be one for the younger people with whom I have become friends.

Getting older

When you’re young, you never really consider what it will be like to get old. What I mean by that is that the idea of getting older is a purely theoretical one when you are twenty or thirty years old. You know that one day you will be old, but it seems far off and not much to get bothered about. And then one day, you are older, or at least at the age at which point you’ve lived more than half your life. You are no longer a middle-aged person. People start to view you differently, and you view yourself differently. You become more serious about the things that matter; after all, there is no time to waste on foolish things. At the same time, you learn to laugh at yourself more; after all, you’ve earned that right. You know who you are and you like yourself. You may not be as pretty, or thin, or fashionable as you once were when you were young, but you no longer care. Or you do care, but not in the same way. A good day is one when you’ve had a good night’s sleep, wake up without a lot of small aches and pains, look reasonably presentable for work purposes, and get yourself through the day without being unnecessarily bitchy or frustrated. But society won’t let you grow old gracefully. It insists on putting in its two cents on how you should look and behave. And believe me, it’s not easy facing certain people in society and telling them to mind their own business; that you want to grow old gracefully without a lot of plastic surgery, Botox and fillers. Or that you are not interested in pumping yourself full of hormones to become youthful again. I spend a fair amount of my weekdays with younger people, and I can tell you that I do not envy them their youth. I would not want to return to my thirties and to the uncertainty of those years. You’re still finding your way, building a career, clearing the jungle and carving out your niche. It’s fun but at the same time, it’s deadly serious and a lot of hard work, overtime and weekend work. And if you’re looking for a partner to share life with, it is hard work to find the one that ‘fits’ you. And so it goes. Maybe you find the right person, and then you might want to start a family, with all the work that entails. No, I don’t want to go back or to be young again. I’ve earned my stripes and I want to be able to leave the work world and to leave my projects and tasks over to those who come after me—the younger workers. One day they will be old and will face the same thing. More power to them until that day comes.

So why do people make stupid comments—about your getting older, about the fact that you no longer look the same or act the same as you did when you were younger? That you look 'different' than you used to look (translated--older, more tired, etc.)? When those comments are made to me, my answer is--of course I do, I'm older. I'm no longer thirty years old. Getting older is not a choice. It is not something anyone can do anything about. Why should people feel guilty about getting older? Why do they need to be reminded about it constantly? It is no one’s ‘fault’ that people get old. It’s just life. But society won’t leave older people alone. And many older people feel as though they have to act ‘younger’. I am not one of them. I am honest about feeling tired, about not having the energy I once had, about wanting a more peaceful life, about wanting to retire, about not wanting to be ‘on’ all the time. I don’t want to work full-time until I die. That’s my choice and that’s my right. And if you don’t like me for it, that’s fine—leave me alone. Find someone else to reproach. And if you want to harass me for getting older, again, leave me alone. I don’t want you in my life. As far as work goes, I want the younger people to take over my job eventually. I have no reason to cling desperately to it; it does not define me—it is not my identity. I’ve done what I’ve wanted to do work-wise and I’ve done plenty. I’ve done enough to last two lifetimes. I want to use my time doing other things—volunteer work, library work, working at an animal shelter or working at a garden center—who knows what time will bring? Whatever it brings, I’ll tackle it. Just leave me alone and let me grow old gracefully. I have some good role models—older folks who have aged gracefully--and they do not (and did not) apologize for being old or for getting older. And I have never made them feel as though they had to, never. I’m proud of myself for that when I see the stupidity around me, and grateful for the wonderful relationships I’ve had with the older people in my life. They shared their wisdom and showed me the importance of empathy. It’s them I miss (those who have passed on), not youth, and not the stupidity of youth and of a society that worships youth. My mother used to say, once you got old, you became invisible. She was never invisible to me, and older people in general are not invisible to me. Again I say, if you have a problem with getting older and need to harass older people to deal with your own insecurity and fear of death, you can disappear from my life. I don't need you in it.

Remembering my mother on her birthday

Had my mother still been alive, today would have been her 94th birthday. Unfortunately, she passed away in 2001. The cause of death was sepsis, which is not a very uncommon cause of death among elderly people for reasons that are not well-known. My mother had been in very good health until she neared her 78^th year; I can recall only two times in her entire adult life when she was hospitalized, once for a viral infection in her middle ear, and the other for an operation to remove an inflamed appendix. When she was in her late seventies, she began to have problems with her back. She was eventually diagnosed with osteoarthritis of the spine, again, not an unexpected diagnosis for many of the elderly. Having been a great walker for most of her life, my guess is that she looked ahead and did not like what she saw—a future with limited opportunities for walking, perhaps the use of a wheelchair and/or walker—in short, a more restricted life than the one to which she was accustomed. She was independent and stubborn; when she was hospitalized initially for medical tests, she was in good spirits and was sure she would be able to return to her old life. Sadly, that was not the case. She ended up at a care center so that she could undergo physical therapy to get her back on her feet again. For some reason, she became quite stubborn (more so than usual) and refused that help. And that refusal was her undoing. Had she worked at her physical therapy, she might still be alive today. All these many years later, I understand that she simply could not accept the idea that she would be dependent upon anyone or anything, and the idea that she was suddenly infirm did not appeal to her. My mother had no patience for being old, for the various small irritations and physical limitations of old age. She was vehement about not giving in to old age. What is surprising is that she did not understand her role in her own recovery, even when it was explained to her; had she taken the reins and insisted upon therapy, had she done what it took to get better, she might still be alive. But she had no personal experience with chronic or long-term illness, even though she had taken care of my father, who had debilitating heart disease, until his death. Taking care of him had not prepared her for suddenly being afflicted herself. Her two brief hospital stays must have convinced her to get out of the hospital and back home as fast as possible. I understand her at the same time that I question her actions during the last few months of her life. But I accept what happened even though I don’t understand completely what happened.

In the intervening years, there have been other illnesses and deaths--family members and friends alike—and I have had a chance to witness first-hand how these people tackled the illnesses that preceded their deaths. Illness does some surprising things to people. Some of them simply accepted their diagnoses and the accompanying conditions, others fought against them. Those who fought were mostly younger or middle-aged people. I also know older people who have done what it takes to get well, who were assertive about getting back on their feet again; interestingly, they are still with us. I've also known older people who did what they had to do to get well, but death took them anyway. Along the way, I've learned that you simply cannot know how you would think or feel if faced with a similar situation. And until you step into the shoes of a person who is ill (with a terminal diagnosis or long-term illness) you have no real idea of what they’re going through. It’s best to be there for them, to help out, to listen, to advise when asked for advice, to offer hope, to be positive, even if we don't always understand their situation or their response to it. Not much more is asked of us.