Friday, I wrote this. . . after deleting two other half-hearted attempts that my very vocal inner critic deemed banal or overly self-indulgent. . .
Today is tough. No single reason, nor any serious one. Still privileged, still housed comfortably, still healthy and fit and accompanied through life by a beloved companion. Still have family and friends, even if I can’t see them in person. . .
But it’s raining still, and again, and perhaps forever. . .
And Covid-19 restrictions have been extended, protocols tightened here — which is as it should be given the alarming alacrity with which this virus is rebounding here. . .
The social isolation is harder to manage some days than others. So many of the resources that experience has built for me over the past few years of retirement are off limits right now. You know, those resources that get me out of myself, away from the black dogs on the days emotional, intellectual, and/or physical energy is difficult to muster. When reading or sketching, writing or knitting, playing the piano or hoisting a kettlebell seem more work than they’re worth. . . On those days, I can sometimes achieve a ReStart with a trip to a bookstore followed by a solo lunch at a favourite small bistro, a glass of prosecco to start, some dainty dolce or other to finish. Or by giving my walk a reward destination: coffee and pastry in a new neighbourhood; browsing the fall offerings in my preferred shoe store. . .
A few of those activities are still possible, as long as I wear a mask. As long as I don’t stay too long inside the shops. As long as I find a seat on an outdoor patio for my lunch or my coffee and pastry.
And I can still walk, of course. But today that seems more chore than treat, and oh, my spirit really wants some coddling. . . It doesn’t want to carry an umbrella. . . it doesn’t want to be cold. Doesn’t much want to exert any energy at all, in fact. Dr. Marc E. Agronin writes, in The End of Old Age (my brief Reading Journal notes about it here), of events in our lives that he calls “age point” events. On days like today, I sense that this pandemic might become an age point event. The social isolation required of us temporarily is a lighter version of the stricter, more prolonged and perhaps terminal isolation our older seniors are experiencing right now. So that, of course, heralds possibilities (threats, warnings) of our own futures, ones we haven’t wanted, or had, to think about, active and healthy and fit as we might be in those early-retirement Go-Go years (Go-Go, Slow-Go, No-Go short-hand for a narrative we can only acknowledge via defensive humour. Funnier now than, say, ten years on. . . )
Saturday morning:
That’s all I managed yesterday. First of all, it took me most of the morning to convince myself it was worth writing at all. And then once I started — and it helped, the simple creativity of shaping thoughts and feelings into words and sentences and paragraphs — I arrived at a place where I didn’t trust myself to linger. . .
These “age point” events are always, in some way, about confrontations with mortality. . . and for me, occasionally since retirement, but much more regularly throughout these pandemic restrictions, that confrontation means a restrospective assessment of my time here. And when those black dogs are hanging around, I have been known to dismiss my parenting, my various degrees and diplomas, my teaching (piano, music theory, university literature and composition), the marathon I ran — each item my husband advances to argue my life has been well lived.
No, I haven’t got that quite right. I don’t dismiss the value of my parenting, and I can still feel pleased that I was disciplined enough to earn those letters, to run those kilometres. If I’m more precise — and honest — I’ll admit that I topple into the Slough of Despond when I sense that my Curriculum Vitae, the fullness of my life, my identity, is effaced, erased, by the wrinkles and the greying hair and the changing silhouette. And more so than ever, now that we’re all distancing ourselves from each other–with some resentment, it must be said–for a disease much more dangerous to those of us over 65. “Of a certain age” carries more charge, as a phrase, than ever. . .
In other words, I sometimes mind — sometimes I really mind! — that I’m not seen as having much value anymore. Even then, as Clotilde Dusoulier in those Change Ma Vie podcasts I listen to regularly, the emotions I feel (sadness, frustration, resentment, sadness, more sadness) are based on my thoughts — but my thoughts are not me (Vous n’êtes pas vos pensées). If I step back to observe my thoughts, write them down and then examine them objectively to see how they match the circumstances, I have to admit that I don’t know how others perceive me. Nor, obviously, can I have any control over whether my age or my appearance has much effect on that perception.
By Friday afternoon — although I wasn’t ready to write about it here yet — I was realizing this all over again, this reality that I can only control my thoughts and perceptions, not those of others. I know, Duh! What can I say, that Slough of Despond is a mucky place. . .
Part of what helped me clamber out of the slough was recalling Agronin’s (research-based) convictions and advice about “living a longer and more purposeful life”: the geriatric psychiatrist offers many case studies to argue that aging is actually a positive force, a strength we can draw from to respond creatively and effectively to the challenges we will surely confront. While I’m still fit, healthy, and active, while my mental acuity is still sufficient, I want to practice the resilience I will need for the limitations old age may impose. I hope to build the skills and the attitude that will serve me well should I have a long life. If for no other reason, I’d like to leave behind — for the people I brought into the world, at the very least — evidence that those last years are worth living. That goals are worth setting. That simple pleasures are worth enjoying. That we can’t always be sure of pleasing others, but we can figure out what pleases us.
If I’m not careful, I’ll veer off soon into the general and the abstract, into big-pronouncement territory that I’m not particularly qualified or prepared to tread. So instead, I’ll tell you some of the Simple Pleasures that moved me back to engagement with the world, yesterday.
First of all — and this one is almost like cheating, it’s so surefire — I FaceTimed Rome and had a good long chat with La Ragazzina. She and her mamma and papa were getting ready to make s’mores on a little fire Papa’d built outside. Her first taste of s’mores! . . . She asks, “Can I tell you something?” at least six times each time we chat. Granddad and I always answer “Yes.”
What else? I read for a while. . . a mystery novel that pulled me through the streets of Florence and then out of the city, through the Tuscan countryside to a big old castle where an artists’ retreat has been disrupted by the accidental death (or murder?) of Castle Orfeo’s art director. This is the second volume I’ve read in Christobel Kent’s Sandro Cellini series. If you’re craving some indulgent self-care, you could start at the beginning with A Time of Mourning (I wrote a bit about it here; you’ll have to scroll down).
I got outside, although only very briefly, a short walk to the library where I returned two books and found two more. All the novelty and acquisition of retail therapy; none of the expense! And yes, I wore my mask — they’re mandatory in indoor public spaces throughout British Columbia now.
Played the piano, painted a watercolour circle (keeping a journal of these in Courtney Cerruti’s One Color a Day book). Took a long nap. Probably too long. But on days like Friday, I try to listen to my body’s needs and indulge. . .
What else? Drank tea, finished knitting myself a hat, and watched three episodes of Engrenages/Spiral with Paul, the first episode accompanied by a fine meal — healthy, colourful, lively food (black rice with squid and radishes — I know, but it’s really tasty with great textures to boot!; roasted red kuri squash; persimmon, pomegranate, and radicchio salad). . .
And today is another day. Bread-making day, which should clinch the well-being in place even more firmly. I was sad, yesterday, and I thought about and felt the sadness. Bit by bit I made some small and mindful moves that were, fortunately, “answered by the universe” such that I became less sad, more engaged, happier and happier as the day progressed. (I didn’t tell you, did I, that while he was preparing dinner, I interrupted him because I needed a dance partner? My “Release Radar” was playing on Spotify, and a remix of Bob Marley’s Sun is Shining demanded some movement. . . Joe Bonamassa was pretty insistent as well. I should have mentioned that music is one of my top mood-changers, although I rarely think of that at the lowest ebbs).
The photos I was going to intersperse throughout this post — this past week’s sampling of “things that make me happy” — now seem a bit too insistent on looking at the positive. While that’s where I want to end up — because otherwise, really, what’s the choice in the longer term? — I guess I think it’s important to hold a bit more space for those moments when we can’t quite get there. As Clotilde says (she’s not really my “guide to life” but if you want to get your wisdom and practice your French in one place, she’s a good starting point ;-)) . . it’s important to observe our thoughts and emotions with openness and curiosity. (My yoga teacher cited a self-help guru — Jeff Warren? — who recommends welcoming all your feelings to the party!) So I’m going to save the photos for next post. In fact, I think I’ll post some Short and Sweet posts this week, perhaps almost daily. We’ll see. . .
Right now, though, that bread dough isn’t going to Stretch and Fold itself, so I’d better go. I’d love to see your feedback to this post. Comments open below. . . with the proviso that I’m not looking for sympathy or advice. I’ve got a solid handle on my emotional and mental well-being. . . It’s just that I believe we might be healthier if we left room to acknowledge our less comfortable feelings as part of the spectrum. Especially now, as Covid complicates the usually smorgasbord of emotions set out by the upcoming “festive season.” . . . Thoughts?
xo,
f
I’ve never commented before though I’ve been reading you for quite awhile. I was motivated to do so following your line that you don’t know how others perceive you. You weren’t asking for this but I really wanted you to know that I so admire the way you’re living your life. I perceive you as a kind, engaged, thoughtful, intelligent woman who has created and cultivated a meaningful and rewarding life. And in that sense you serve as a role model for the way I’d like to live my life as well as time goes on. I am in my mid-50s but had a late start with kids, so mine are only youngish teens right now, with their dad (my ex-husband) living on the other side of the country. My life is very much kid-centered but I love to squeeze in all the reading and yoga and mindfulness and gratitude I can, figuring that my own fulfillment will only make me a better and more present mama.
Anyway, please know that you’re not alone in isolation-and-strange-times melancholy. I appreciate your writing and think you and the community you’ve created here are lovely.
Elaine
I listened to the most recent round of restrictions while driving home from school and it became such a weight, almost physically pushing me down. Here we go again, and in the midst of dreary weather.
The things that pull you up are much the same as those that have that effect on me – a walk outside, some good food, a supportive partner, and those lovely chats with children and grandchildren via technology. We are looking forward to the birth of another grandchild next Saturday (via C-section), and are wondering how to navigate care and support safely. I'll be looking after the 17-month old for four days (booked a couple of days off school).
Today I started a page in my kitchen journal "A Covid19 Christmas" and started jotting down special foods for the two of us. I found it quite depressing and retreated to the couch with a mindless novel, which helped me escape for a bit.
Truly, these are strange and difficult times. But we will get through this time. Thank you for sharing your honest thoughts. May you find daily grace.
Sometimes we feel the way we feel, no explanations necessary or posibile. I hope I'm not being too simplistic in my response, and I'm always ready to listen, and to know I'm not on my own in this.
Amen to that and more. Retirement. COVID-19 Old age. Dark winter days. Oh. B
I don't even know your name. So your a bit like Rebecca, the nameless one.
A good friend sent me your Friday, no it's Saturday writing and I was very kindred spirited to you immediately. I started a diary in March and as so little happens day to day it has come a memoir come rambling of thoughts,feelings and general recipes of the moment.
We have had three grandchildren born in Covid and that has been my main thorn that my daughter and daughter in law are desperate for comfort, sleep, help and here I am navel-gazing! I will follow your thoughts over the other side of the world.
Edwina
There's a lot in this post! You are not alone, and I appreciate your remedies for body, mind, spirit. Though I relate to the "age points", I especially like the French term, "un coup d'age", because it does feel like a blow more than just a 'point'. A smack to the self-image and ego, like hitting one's head on an open cupboard door—ouch, and how could I have not known that was there?
What has helped me is to realize everyone is going through this, not just my cohort, and that I am living through a huge, historic event. I loved the mention of "welcoming all your feelings to the party" (and not letting certain guests monopolize the soiréet!) Hugs, ma!
I have read your blog for some time and occasionally made a comment, but there is so much here I had to say something. I am older than you, 79, I will be 80 this spring and find this so hard to believe. I retired just over 10 years ago and still am trying to find myself. I can look back on my life and can often take pride, advanced degrees, a long career, raising two upstanding adults on my own. I have a nice home, am financially comfortable but still struggle to find meaning. this is especially hard now as even those things which did add structure and human contact to my life have all but disappeared. last evening I learned that our American thanksgiving dinner would have to be cancelled. I would have been able to see my son, his wife and two grandchildren for the first time since August. I am lucky in that I see my daughter somewhat regularly. I wish I had some talent or hobby which could fill the time meaningfully. I confess I have been a bit envious of your drawing abilities and your knitting. even, cooking, which I used to enjoy seems rote with just me as recipient. I feel like a cliche, that little old lady who lives alone with her cat. a few years ago I was sprinting into the bank on a cold Winter morning when a man at the door called out "run grandma, run". this is how I am seen and how little respect older women get in society. Sorry for this rambling rant Frances. it is just that yes things are so difficult now and it effects everyone. no matter how much we realize that we are the lucky ones the losses hurt. Darby
Dark days for many of us. I listened to Clotilde at your suggestion last week. She is good for the aural French and for developing the awareness of the negative voice.
"Un coup d'âge" seems so appropriate. My mum has become "frail elderly" and was scheduled for an operation last week. After much anxiety, surgery was cancelled due to her "high risk" cardiac status. I've always thought it a bit unfortunate that "old age" often hits us over the head. Mum keeps saying that she is not elderly but "getting older".
Monsieur, at 73, continues to suffer from an indeterminate respiratory ailment that keeps his mood rather dark.
A walk in a different neighbourhood, a new mystery series to read or a visit with my daughter often divert me but the days of November are long and dark. For a diversion, go read Pascal on diversion.
I like Lorrie's idea of planning a Covid Christmas. We can include my daughter who lives alone and works from home. So many different ideas and it's only 6:00 am.
Yesterday was a bright and mostly dry day here so I went for a distanced walk with a young friend of mine – I was her nanny back in the late 80s and she is the daughter of one of my oldest friends. This time last year she moved up to Yorkshire from London and bam! Just settling in and we had wet, flooding winter weather and then Covid. We took our cake and coffee and sat by the riverside to chat and natter about her struggles to settle, to adapt, to be away from her family. It felt pleasing to be able to review our lives – 30 years ago, I was pretty much her. It could have been an unsettling morning but it wasn't, we had a lot of laughs and some enjoyable shopping in the little town and I realised how quickly those 30 years had passed. In the middle of the night it can appear terrifying – I won't have another 30!!! Getting older and, to some people, old is not how I thought it would be. I can enjoy the nothing-in-particular more than I did when I was young but am aware that many chances are gone forever. Not easy. Nobody ever told me about that but perhaps our expectations are higher than those of the last generation.
With my kid grown, I had just started looking for jobs in earnest, longing to get back into an office and among people after so many years of working remotely. That's shot.
My kid asked for the class photo of everybody in masks (they did an unmasked version by assembling the individual photos in a group–not in person). "It's going to be a moment of history," my kid said.
Indeed.
Everyone is suffering in some way. It is the year without fun. For younger ones, that first love will have to wait, so will the driver's license, and who knows about school and exams and sports and all the things they've been striving for. Life on pause.
My aunt, a very social person, had just moved to assisted living to get out of her lonely house. Now 3/4 of the residents have Covid and several have died. Another relative has Covid for the second time, and it's worse.
The thing about age is that it's hard enough, but to come at the same time as everything else is just a serving too much. It's turning the much-anticipated Go-Go years into No-Go years ahead of their time. As Annie says, some opportunities are gone forever. That can be hard to swallow.
As is often the case when reading your posts, I am struck by how often you capture the feelings of so many of us–positive and negative–into essays of the heart.
One thing I did think about after reading today's post is how do we– those of us of a certain age–in my case, days from turning 70– perceive our peers? This is to say that we often perceive of other generations as deeming us invisible. Do we do that ourselves–perceiving others as old or older than ourselves as not as interesting, not as valuable? Is it what so-called (Western) societal norms have trained us to believe? And if so, how might we change that narrative so that we don't turn those negative perceptions upon ourselves and others of a certain age? Just a free floating thought trailing behind your own.
Elaine: Thank you so much for your kind words. I always feel a bit vulnerable after a post like this, and to have your comment be the first one here was lovely — so gratifying to know that my writing connects!
Lorrie: I understand that retreat completely! And I know that despite the challenges of Covid and safety, etc., you will be a great help with the 17-month-old. . . (and probably exhausted enough when it's done that you should book an extra day off work ;-)! . . . I'll be thinking of you and your family next Saturday.
Jules & B: Thank you!
Edwina: Welcome! and thanks for the comment (thank your friend for me as well, for pointing you to our community here). And Oh! I can so empathize with the frustration and sadness of Covid restrictions interfering with those first months of three new grandchildren! Those days you'll never get back — but there will be others and you'll be keener than ever to help and the new parents will be so glad to take you up on every offer. Be sure to let us know here when that first happens. Surely we're only months away now. . .
Duchesse: Yes, I agree that "coup d'age" presents a more forceful image (if one speaks French). I think that perhaps Agronin's more neutral term might be part of his strategy to see that for all its ravages and vicissitudes, aging delivers strengths as well. My references to his work are too glancing, I know, to make that clear.
Darby: What you describe — yes! this is what I can feel at times, or at least anticipate feeling in 10 years, and it has been exacerbated by the isolation of Covid. I found the Agronin book helpful in helping me resolve to get past those feelings, to define my strengths for myself, and resolve on purpose for these years. Nothing really revolutionary in what he offers, but somehow it effected a tiny paradigm shift for me, and some days that's all I need. . . I would also say that the inner voices that judge sketching or cooking or other efforts as banal or rote or whatever need to be ignored or shushed or simply told that "That might be true but my efforts bring me pleasure and those small pleasures keep me going." May the conversation continue. (and I'm so sorry about the cancellation of your Thanksgiving dinner!)
Mme: Your mother sounds like a marvel, as she has since I first "met" you via social media. I know it's hard to watch that encroaching frailty and Covid is making it clear how much we need to restructure our approach to caring for elderly seniors — and benefiting from what they still have to offer (and, of course, I'm selfish in wanting us to do this soon!)
Annie G: Those 30 years, or 40, or 50. . . unimaginable to us, then, how quickly they'd pass. Which, of course, means we have a good idea of how quickly the next ones will. In some ways, that in itself is one of the strengths of aging. We have an understanding/knowledge of time that couldn't have been borne in our younger years.
Taste: It is hard, isn't it, and some days much tougher than others. (Wasn't your kid clever to want a class photo with masks!). We still do have fun, but it comes in different forms, perhaps we need to develop different awarenesses of its quieter appearance. . . perhaps that will even be a good lasting effect, after this is done. I suspect First Love is still happening now as well, perhaps a more prolonged prequel. . On the hard days, though, right now, it's too easy to feel all the possibilities slipping through our fingers like sand. . . for what it's worth, I believe you'll have your office job by the end of 2022. fingers crossed for you. Bon courage!
Mary: This is such a worthwhile comment, very much worth pondering. I have been thinking a bit about this as well, a dismissal we make of other people in our age demographic. Let me see if I can bring it up in a future post and we can build a conversation around it. Thank you!
I read your post last night, and needed to process a bit more before making a comment.
I wonder if we woman have been brought up in a hall of mirrors, and all the reflections that we see
are other people’s opinions reflected back at us, or what we assume are their opinions. Our thoughts of
ourselves are made up of all the different small pieces. This begins while quite young.
I wonder if all these perceptions turn into our reality. And then, our whole self image falters as we
get older. Oh yeah, COVID, and all of a sudden we are the vulnerable…
Ali
So many amazing words to ponder from you and from those who have responded. I can only say that I accomplished so little in September and October, frittering away days only to find the sun setting before I actually accomplished anything worthwhile.
I vowed to change that in November or I knew that winter would be bleak (and I'm not talking about the weather, the anticipation for a smooth presidential transition, or my mood)and I have succeeded-a little. Walks in the woods helped, but we are now in week 2 of rifle hunting season and I'd rather not take a chance, even wearing top to toe red. Also, my husband could not shake a virus, which he did not tell me about at first, so it was a long ten days from when his doctor made an appointment for him at the testing center until the negative diagnosis came in. He wore a mask but was a little cavalier about hand washing when he came in from buying the newspaper or going to the post office. I kept my mouth shut, although inside I was screaming, "I told you so!" At this point I am lucky that I don't actually look my age thanks to good genes and skin care, so I am not yet dismissed as often as some. And really, who would know hidden behind my mask and eyebrow pencil how old I actually am? However, I am grateful that my mother-in-law passed away long before the pandemic and that we are spared the stress and worry so many who have elderly parents are experiencing. I am also grateful that our kids live alone and work from home. I guess as I finish, I realize I have much to be grateful for and will try to make that my focus going forward. We'll see how that goes…Carol in VT
It seems to have been a dark and gloomy time generally these past few weeks. Sorry that it's been a tough time for you. I continue to enjoy Clothilde's podcasts, so thank you so much for these – and in fact am now finishing my morning shower with a cold blast, after listening to the "La Douche Froide" one. Incredibly, I seem to be sleeping better as a result. Maybe the power of suggestion, but it works!
The thing that really, really irks me about being perceived by others as getting older, and echoing Mary's comment, is the being ruled out of possible closer friendships with other women because of what they seem to feel is too big an age gap. I have quite an age range of friendships from my university career – whether because of that specific environment of "thinking" people, or whether professional life makes people more age-blind, but since retiring and moving north I've found it very frustrating. There are two or three women in their 40s I've met and with whom I would love to form a closer friendship – and after a lifetime's practice in friendship-making I'm pretty sure it would be reciprocated. But here in the north, where many women are grannies at 50, I seem to be relegated to a distant shelf. As a positive tho, I've formed a close friendship with the 94 year old mother of a school friend, who lives very near us. I can't actually visit her in these times, but we phone each other for long, often giggly chats.
Uncomfortable end of the spectrum feelings for me just now are definitely to do with renovation fatigue, and wondering what Christmas we might have. Daughter may decide to spend Christmas in London alone, to cut down risk of infection and avoid the "stramash" (a good Scottish word for you) of the whole country being on the move. My maternal heart aches for her, but I'm totally against the whole "we must all get together at Christmas at any cost" despite the virus" mentality.
No-Go Age indeed! We are all coping with the situation,with all the ups and downs… it is normal to ask a lot of question,from Who I am to Who I will be after Covid (and a lot of other problems and questions,too)? There are good days and there are bad days
I really try to see the happiness (or something similar) in small things and count my blessings….some didn't have the luck to reach a No-Go Age….Is it a comfort? Sometimes….
Dottoressa
Ali: yes, absolutely! I did some reading in psychoanalytic theory during my PhD, and mirrors and gazes and projections and screens play large in identity formation. And that faltering. . . some days I'm right back in a shy six-year-old moment . . . (Have you put your garden to bed now? I know this fall and winter will be so different from your traditional European getaway.)
Carol: Yikes! Stay out of those woods! It must have been a relief to get the results of your husband's test.
Linda: I've been pleased (and a bit surprised) this last couple of years to have developed friendships with much younger women, but I know exactly what you mean. More to think about for the post Mary's comment might inspire. . .
Dottoressa: Exactly. We can "really try" to see the happiness. And sometimes that's a comfort. Other days, we can only do our best to get through. (I hope your mother is doing well also) xo
Such a wonderful post, my wise friend. I know that in the past months I have been erratic at best. I will wake one day, energetic and chipper, so happy with my lot in life, my health and safety, my newly white hair, our little house on the river, my convivial husband who tracks mud from the garden into the newly clean kitchen, but then returns later in the day to make dinner. On those days I can't imagine why I felt so down the day before. And then a few days later, sigh, the pendulum swings back. 2020… is for me the year I came face to face with myself. Over and over. Ha. xo
This is a beautiful post. So well said, and it feels very welf-aware to me, in a quiet and therefore thoughtful way. I have had an experience similar to Sue Burpee, inasmuch as I have spent a lot of time with myself since March, experiencing myself, and trying to understand myself. That said, I've also been closing up my mom's estate, so I've had a big complex project to provide structure to the time. And our election of course occupied a huge amount of emotional space. I am really wondering how it will be when this is all over. Better in most ways, and yet I'm expecting the return of freedom to bring some discomforts I can't predict. I so wish we could visit in person, though, and that part of the end of quarantine will be worth any other tremors.
Sue: Aw, thanks! Glad you found it relevant. It's strange to me, the way it can hit so hard after a solid row of decent, productive, contented days. And then move on. . . (thank goodness). Yes, that confrontation with self. Over and over. Just as you say. . .
Lisa: Kind words, much appreciated. You've had so much going on this year, and that focus on visiting your dad, making sure to protect your exposure/health for his sake. Plus the urgent importance of the work you were doing toward the election (and it paid off! Thank you!) Yesterday's concession, however belated and grudging and partial, must help a bit more, but I think you're probably right about the unpredictable discomforts. That said, I'm looking forward to that in-person visit. It will happen…