"I can't wait to be middle-aged!" Said no one ever. Just the same, there are some things I certainly appreciate about it.
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The other day I spotted the chart below, originally posted in Business Insider, in my Facebook feed. While there are several things to look forward to, I have to say, according to this, my life opportunities are behind me. Some, long behind me. I guess I'll never make that Nobel-Prize winning discovery. Or run a marathon (totally fine with this by the way). I'm not sure what to make of peaking at 10 years of age for staying alive. I kind of think that should show up on the day before your birthday each year. And if my brain processing power peaks at 18, how is it that I'll have the best chance of playing great chess 13 years later? And why is there a "female attractiveness to men" age but not one for when we gals find men most attractive? I'd be worried about that one men. I am most satisfied with life at age 23? Well, I was having some fun but I can tell you in my 20s I was looking forward to my 30s because life was too chatoic.
Apparently, at 56, I am in a vast wasteland of doing anything best. Somehow I have vocabulary to look forward to in 13 years - which must mean I'll be working a lot of crossword puzzles in my retirement because I've personally found my ability to call up vocabulary words to be, currently, abysmal. I truly look forward to finally achieving happiness with my body in another 18 years. I would call that "finally throwing in the towel" and accepting what's staring back at me in the mirror. I'm not sure "happiness" quite describes that. And finally achieving psychological wellbeing at 82 is a blessing because I'll have nothing more to look forward to. I wonder what Grandma Moses would have made of this list. I am blessed to still have my parents around. Not literally "around" as they live 12 hours away. But they're alive, to put it bluntly, something so many of my contemporaries cannot claim. I talk to them weekly to allow plenty of time to catch up, as my mom can turn any quick chat into an hour-long conversation. And I really love our chats, for the most part, as long as we don't veer off onto taboo subjects like politics, on which we do not see eye-to-eye. One of the reasons I feel so privileged to have them and to talk regularly is I get a view into old age in a way I might not pay attention to otherwise. Mom and dad downsized from their three-bedroom home of 34 years in 2012, moving to a comfortable two-bedroom apartment. They're not the retirement-home types, really, though I think mom would be inclined to join some of the group activities. They - like me - are accustomed to having friends of all ages and I think the gray landscape of such an environment would dismay them. They have their routines and I think, as they become more and more forgetful at 84 and 89, their routines are a comfort, something that becomes rote, not dependent on faltering memories. At the same time, I think they miss being younger when each day was a new adventure. I know they really look forward to our weekly chats. My mom tends to dominate the conversation, as she always has, looping my dad in on occasion by shouting his name over the extension. (I think sometimes my dad dozes off, happy to have a break from being mom's sole conversant.) They want, as they always have, to hear all about my week - how things are at work, what the kids are up to, all the boring - but to them interesting - details. When I ask about their week, with the exception of various doctor visits, my dad usually laughs and says, "Well, you know, same old same old." And as much as I know, at their age, no news truly is good news, I can't help but detect a little sadness in that response. Or maybe it's just me. I have to say the things they do talk about these days can be surprising. For example a couple weeks ago, they shared that my dad told my mom he would probably outlast her. And they both agreed it would be better that way. Wow. Can you imagine having that conversation with your significant other? It doesn't get more real. I had to laugh because it was so absurd to me, and yet, I imagine, strangely comforting to them. I'll talk to them again in a few days. Hopefully I'll have some interesting news to share. Though I'm not sure it will beat the who'll-die-first conversation. At least, I hope not. My children are 21 and 18. And, while many of my parenting peers have waved a tearful goodbye to their college students each summer, I have yet to do so because both my adult kids are still at home. One is taking a little break from college to redirect while the other graduated early from high school and is prepping to apply to a very competitive art school in about six months.
When I was their age I, like most of my contemporaries I imagine, couldn't wait to move out. We were all raring and ready to experience the world. Flash forward to 2017 and kids don't have that same motivation because they're already in touch with the world. Both my children are online gamers and play with people from around the world. My daughter drinks PG Tibbs tea because one of her UK pals turned her on to it and my son regularly discusses with us the concept of Communism thanks to some guys he plays with from Russia. While I didn't fly on a plane or use a computer until college, they're way ahead of me in what they've experienced already in life. Don't get me wrong, I want to see the little birdies fly from the nest. But, while they prep for flight, I get to enjoy some things I don't think my mom and dad did in my haste to fly the coop. Here are some things I get out of the deal:
I'm not sure when it started but I think it was well before I turned 50 - nostalgia began to color my remembrances. So different than when I as younger and would look back on my, then, short life, turning my nose up at younger me, so certain I had come so far, being so much older and wiser. But over the last decade or so nostalgia's warm sepia has replaced the stark lens through which I look back on my life. I know I often wondered what had become of my first true love, who I dated in high school, some of college and then post-college until I realized we wanted different things from life. The last time I'd seen him was post-breakup, as he was driving by me standing in line outside of the Stone Pony in Asbury Park, waiting to get into a Ramones show. Then he was forever gone. I remember hearing he'd met someone and was dating but I slowly lost touch with anyone we'd had in common until, finally, I could only imagine he'd married and started a family, probably close to where we grew up. I guess most of us get nostalgic as we age. I remember one time my dad was in New Jersey on business from Texas after I'd moved back to the Garden State. We visited Spring Lake and, as we stood on the boardwalk looking out at the ocean, he got misty recalling an old summer fling he'd had there when he was a teen. I was in my 20s and he near 60. I can still see him, standing next to me in the twilight, disappear into a memory. He was right there, but he wasn't. I think now I can almost see where he'd gone. Facebook has certainly had an impact on the nostalgic waxings of my advancing years. For starters, it helped me reconnect with my old beau, through his little brother, as my former bf is not a Facebook kind of guy. (Don't worry, my husband knows all about our correspondence, which is only fair as I seem to run into one of his old girlfriends whenever we visit his home town). It's nice to hear he did find the right girl for him and has raised two sons...fairly close to where we grew up. Otherwise, Facebook helped me reconnect with old high school classmates so I could attend my 35th reunion - the first one I'd ever attended! And, thanks to the soft lens of nostalgia, I think we've all chosen to befriend one another in ways the angst of our youth did not allow. Oh! And I've reconnected with my long-lost best friend, meeting her husband and watching her daughter marry through Facebook photos. I know 20-something me would probably scoff at my softhearted reconnection with my youth. But I don't care. She didn't have a lengthy past about which to be nostalgic, just decades of adventure laid out ahead of her. And no clue about how interesting all that adventure would look in the rearview mirror, through the wiser eyes of one who now knows where life's potholes are. And can better enjoy the journey ahead by driving around them. It seems to me that, even in our progressive world in which I struggle to keep up with what seems to be an ever-lengthening list of possible gender identities, we still don't feel comfortable talking about the M word. Menopause. I don't understand why that is. I'm not one to go into gory detail - nobody's got time for that except surgeons and serial killers. But there are things I've experienced that no one told me about. And, at 56 and still in perimenopause, you would have thought I'd have oodles of friends who've gone all the way through willing to share their stories. We all love to share our labor and delivery tales - I know I've got mine at the ready, even though my kids are now adults. Why can't we talk a little more freely about this part of our lives? I know all about hot flashes. I had them at least hourly until my physician made a slight adjustment to one of my medications (another thing I didn't know could happen). But no one mentioned cramps that make my toes spontaneously twist like gnarled old trees. That's fun. Nor did anyone mention restless leg syndrome which has me flopping like a fish all night. In fact neither of those things is mentioned on WebMD nor the Mayo Clinic sites. Although they do mention thinning hair and loss of breast fullness. Yay. So I'm sharing, avoiding the more intimate details here, because I think we shouldn't be shy about helping each other through this weird time of life. I wonder if guys would be more open about sharing such things if they happened to them. And maybe I'm just in the wrong conversations. I do tend to hang out with younger folks. Lord knows, my kids know most of the details of what coming out the other side of child-bearing years entails. There is a celebration of sorts when you pass through puberty. Not so much 30 or 40 years down the road. And for all the decades-long complaining we do about our periods there should be a big fat party when we're done. I'm not quite there yet, but maybe I'll throw one. Assuming I can stand on my gnarled old toes.
I've admitted, as I advance in years past the mid-century mark, to taking note of the growing number of things younger than I. Add to the list this week Chris Rock, Flo from Progressive Insurance and the Superbowl. The SUPERBOWL. The week before, it was my friend Dave, who turned 50. At Dave's birthday celebration, some band mates gave him a terrific gift - a bag full of things also born in 1967 - like Pringles. It was a nice reminder - for me at least - that lots of good things are getting older along with us. So I thought I'd check out things that share a birthday year with me. Here's the list I will celebrate today:
I can't remember when I first noticed older women's obsession about paying with correct change. But I do remember making a mental note to either avoid getting into a line behind such an old dear or to be extremely patient when I did. And now I seem to be that, ahem, not-quite-so-old dear. When did it become so important to me to micro-manage my coins? When I was younger and had to use the laundromat, I hoarded quarters and dimes. Or lived in different places traveling on tollways, I was happy to grow my stash. (Except pennies. Can we all just agree that, charming though they are, pennies need to go away?) But those days are gone along with pay phones. So now, I can't get rid of coins fast enough. Have I become so weak in my advancing years that I can't handle being weighed down by metal currency? I don't think so. I think they're just another form of clutter I find it difficult to live with. And while we're on the topic of managing minutiae, compartmentalizing clutter, let me confess , to that end, I have also recently purchased...a pill organizer. Now I'm not near the critical mass my parents manage, along with memories worse than mine (if that's even possible). Like many my age I have some maintenance medications along with vitamins, allergy meds, those baby aspirin doctors like to suggest we take, etc. And in my apparently very busy life, opening all those bottle caps is just cramping my style. So I've begun using the pill organizer. Now, I only have to uncap all those bottles weekly rather than daily - some of them twice. A quick dump into the palm of my hand and bam! Done and out the door. Or off to bed. Whatever busy activity (dreaming about my next concession to old fartdom?) I have lined up. Actually, let's not think of it as being an old fart. Let's just call it streamlined living. So, you have a child and born with him are imaginings of who that pudgy little bundle might become one day. And, because you have no other real reference, you start with the path you took. A word of caution to those with real young ones - hold on to those dreams loosely. My oldest is about to turn 21; my youngest is 18 (God knew two were all I could handle). My path to 21 included captaining high school sports teams, graduating and going directly into college - knowing what I wanted to be when I grew up - and joining a sorority. My husband's was similar, exchanging sports for arts (and the sorority for a fraternity - though he might have enjoyed the sorority house). My kids' paths are markedly different. My son is taking a break from college after two years to reassess what he really wants to do. We've discussed what that break could look like - just working, joining the military or doing service work domestically or internationally. My daughter, who graduated high school early, has her sights set on just one college with an incredibly tight admission rate and average age of first year students at just over 20 years old. So, while my husband and I couldn't wait to fly the coop, it looks like my kids will be around a while. And, the truth is, so many kids who go straight into college end up back home for years anyway because they can't find a job. I think it's telling that the Affordable Care Act allows kids to stay on their parents health insurance plans - even without being students - until they're 26 years old. The Feds raised the full Social Security retirement age from 65 to 67 for folks born in 1960 or later, so more seniors are staying employed, reducing opportunities for the young workforce. Or, those seniors lost their shirts multiple times in market crashes so they can't afford to retire. My point is, you can guide your child along in their younger years and even through the treacherous teens. And while everyone cautions their youth will pass in the blink of an eye, a lot can happen in 18 years. So whatever you think the world might hold for them as they blow out that first birthday candle, don't be surprised by the way things are when they toss their graduation cap. I would really like to meet the folks whose kids became exactly what their parents had imagined. And then I could ride off into the sunset on my unicorn. |
d.a.meek
Young at heart. Archives
December 2017
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