Old Enough

You may have read a recent New Yorker article on ageism, Tad Friend's "Why Ageism Never Gets Old", or possibly flipped past it, not wanting to entertain the ominous thought, Do they mean me?

The summary: The ageist person does not like to be around the old, because it reminds them of loss: of competitive zeal, hair, stamina, and ultimately, life. The old are a buzz kill.

An ageist person may like specific individuals: charming Aunt Stacey, or the super-elder whom she met while hiking the Camino del Santiago—but as a group, we are not magnetic.

The astute American writer Edward Hoagland wrote an essay in which he described his fury at becoming hominum ingratum. At family party that involved a recital, a young woman thoughtlessly moved her chair in front of his, blocking his view.

Hoagland found her callousness deeply insulting, but did nothing, unless you count his essay. It is the accretion of such small acts that wears one down.

I say now, I'm old. I could use the euphemism aging, but everybody is aging. Seventy, which I'll officially hit in July, is generally accepted as Oldland. Once you can collect every senior's discount going, why be coy about one's age, or insist that seventy is the new fifty? If you think it's the new fifty, try getting a job interview.

Sure, Hillary wanted to be President at seventy, and the current President is seventy-one, but political life seems to be its own planet, inhabited by Supreme Court justices who make seventy look mid-career. But those are old people too; there's much variation in capacity at this age.

But I digress, another sure sign of hitting seventy: everything reminds you of something else.

If some younger persons don't like me because of my age, that is not my problem, though if you're in the workforce, especially in certain occupations, the notion that your value is inverse proportion to your birth date is worrisome. And costly.

Could the next cultural uprising be #OldToo?

Friend includes a study's three possible solutions to ageism, which includes the caveat that they are unlikely given Western culture:
1. Having the elderly live among us and fostering respect for them,
2. Bolstering self-esteem throughout the culture to diminish the terror of aging, and
3. Calmly accepting our inevitable deaths.

That's a tall order for the already-stressed young ones, so those of us over fifty could take the lead.

We could boycott products that promise to "fight signs of aging"; avoid cosmetic procedures undertaken solely to obscure maturity (side benefit: you'll save money), insist the entertainment industry show some typical old people, not the stereotypes. (I liked "Grace and Frankie" well enough but who wouldn't recover quickly from divorce if she could do so on the deck of a Malibu beach house?)

We might refuse to live in age-segregated housing, and advocate for more services in multi-generational units. (Friend doesn't address the matter, but I find some of the most ageist persons to be old themselves.)

The "bolster self-esteem" part will be an enormous challenge, because modern life rarely does that for any adult; open any popular magazine and you'll be told you must get, upgrade or produce more.

As an old person, I've adopted a new mantra, I'm Old Enough For This. I'm Old Enough to get rid of "stuff" without thinking I should hang on to it; to sit in a park to watch the light change; to listen to every version of a favourite aria. I'm Old Enough to take the time I need to do a task as well as I want.

I am Old Enough to know from experience that age does not necessarily confer wisdom, and that old coots were equally miserable to be around when they were younger, but no one was willing to tell them.

We took our advantage in youth, let's take it now. We're luxuriously Old Enough to walk by a baby and stop to admire her without the parent thinking we are anything other than a person in awe of new life. We are Old Enough to read a hard book without worrying whether we will remember all of its complexity, and after reading, leave it in a bus shelter for someone to discover.

I hope we thank persons of any age who teach us about their world, and should those younger blame us for our mistakes—from introducing plastic shopping bags to getting rid of designated hitters—listen without reflexive defensiveness.

Then, there is #3. Everyone hopes for a good end, and when you are old, it becomes a more substantive matter. I read that Mother Teresa meditated daily, for five minutes, on her death. Personally, I am meditating about dying while taking a tango lesson, instantly and in the arms of someone named Javier.

These days, I am brought up short not just by lifetime guarantees, but even, as with the duvet I just replaced, a fifteen-year one.

In the meanwhile, there is plenty to do when you're Old Enough. So, Mr. Hoagland, tap that young guest on the shoulder and ask her to move her chair, now.