Over at High Heels in the Wilderness, my friend Sue has written a post about what she calls “another reality check”: that of being 66 and once again uncomfortably aware of the effects of time. The post is striking a chord with many readers, including me. In fact, the day before she posted it, I’d scooped up the following of my own recurrent thoughts, all somewhat connected with my own age (a few years north of 66) and plunked them on this page as a tentative draft of a post.
I’ve elaborated some of these thoughts into paragraphs, but left some as scarcely more than sentences. I’ve tried to make connections between some, and for others will allow the gaps to do their dubious work. Trusting yet again that random abundance might yield eventual coherence. Not so much aiming for a stream-of-consciousness effect as trying to pin down a concatenation of ideas and observations. Trying to spread out these recurrent notions, see what the pattern is, what concerns I might be able to recognize or address or, even better, dismiss. Trusting yet again that random abundance might yield eventual coherence.
Also wondering if any of these wispy worries and tentative thoughts resonate with others of you moving through late 60s, into our 70s, and from there, as Buck Lightyear says more hopefully than I feel, “To Infinity, and Beyond.” I should warn you though: just because I started this post citing Sue’s thoughtful, honest, and deftly articulated one, you shouldn’t expect as organized a structure as hers nor as effective and entertaining a narrative.
Now, without further preliminary ado, here is the actual “ado” under consideration: (I’ve just found that “ado” has its roots in Norse-influenced England, and was used in the 14th-century to mean “conflict, difficulty, fighting, trouble.” — so these troubling thoughts of mine are themselves “ado.” Words, eh?)
— Being the same age, since last month, that my Mom was when my Dad died 22 years ago . . . not going to “unpack” this, but just recording it, a visceral background recognition that I’ve carried for the last year or so. That occasionally prompts me to reach my hand across to my sleeping husband’s shoulder in the dark, in some mixture of deep affection and a need for reassurance. . .
Although my Dad had been diagnosed with cancer 17 years before my mother was widowed, and he’d made the most of every second he had. And my own septuagenarian is currently healthy and fit enough to be out kayaking most mornings for an hour or two, and when he’s not, he’s likely to be on the Stand-Up Paddleboard I got him for last year’s “big birthday.”
— But then he limped and winced and grimaced his way back into the apartment the other day, calling out that he was fine, but that he’d hurt himself. Splattered himself on the concrete floor of our parkade after turning the corner too quickly at the bottom of the ramp he’d just wooshed his bike down . . . Luckily (and fitness is a good part of that luck, I admit, but still) he’d only scraped off (a fair bit) of skin and raised a few bruises. Reminded me, though, that those corners we turn too quickly at this age, literally and metaphorically, can be fraught. . . (also reminded me of this fright, 13 years ago.)
— Waking up before 5 most mornings, first thoughts too often about the lack of meaning or value in my life. Not only my life these days, but — on the direst of those mornings, which then tend to colour the day, or days, ahead — everything I’ve done in my life altogether. I mean, rationally, objectively, I can quickly sketch a CV that argues against that perception. But those wee hours can make room for some cruel wee voices. . . (The fellow who careens down a vehicle ramp and around a corner on his bike, after kayaking in a bit of chop, rarely hears such voices. Or doesn’t listen to them).
— These new glasses (have you seen them on my Instagram post?), new haircut (pictured here) — renewal of a sort, these sometimes distract me from my wrinkles, jowls, sagging chin, and sometimes simply highlight them. Overall, I’m not terribly bothered by my ageing looks, perhaps because I’ve been fortunate enough to know so many women whose intellect or spirit or wisdom illuminated their weathered faces. That’s argument enough against “anti-aging” products. Most days, that is. Some days I’d like the world in general to show a bit more respect for the wise old crone I might hope to become before I surrender completely to my liver spots and chin hairs. . .
— What William says on This Is Us (series finale episode) about the strangeness of a relationship with grandchildren, the intensity of an unconditional love for someone in whose life narrative we’re unlikely to figure as much beyond memories that are little more than sensory impressions. I’ve had — and am still having — much more time with my grandchildren than William did, and I suspect that some of them, at least, will have some fairly clear, defined memories. But still, such a change from the years when we’d do something (meet someone famous, go to a great concert, survive something exhilarating and risky) and think forward to a time we might tell our kids or grandkids about it. Now, telling those decades-old events, we’re as likely to find the grandkids unimpressed, unfamiliar with the cultural references that meant so much to us. And the experiences we’re having these days (our recent trip to Italy, for example) scarcely merit a few minutes’ interest at a family dinner, so that it seems unlikely they’ll enter any family archive. . .
I can counter this negativity with memories of my maternal grandmother (and, to a lesser extent, because I had much less time with them, of my other three grandparents). Even if she wasn’t aware of it, she became a part of me and I remember her with love and respect 37 years after she died. Still, William’s point has to be acknowledged, especially that contrast between the intensity of that unconditional love against the limits of any active role we can play in our grandchildren’s lives over their long arc.
— Then, thinking of grandchildren, thinking about the wisdom weathering alongside my wrinkles, I can try to answer the cruel voices of the wee hours with wisdom borrowed from a seven-year-old. As my Italian granddaughter told me a few weeks ago, she instructed a “mean girl” at school thus: “You can’t ruin my day. Only I can. And I’m having a really good day.” Isn’t that great?! I wonder if she’ll remember having said that when I remind her of it in a future visit? Maybe she’ll be surprised by Nana’s memory?
— Jotting that memory down encouraged me to include a few more upbeat recent observations. Skipping an Italian Book Club Zoom meeting just because I could. Paul was out (babysitting the Nine and the Seven at their place; I didn’t go because I had my Book Club meeting) and I picked up takeout pad thai on my way home from an optical appointment. In the twenty minutes I had left to eat it before signing in online, I realized how much I wanted to slow down in this time to myself. Not speak to anyone, even in English never mind Italian. Even though I had very much enjoyed this month’s reading and I always enjoy the ninety-minute discussions. Often thrill, actually, to find myself discussing in Italian a book (well, generally an excerpt from one) I’ve read in Italian
But I admitted that sometimes even activities I enjoy — or even thrill to — take more energy than I can spare. A new-ish phenomenon, clearly related to age. Worth fighting against much of the time. But sometimes worth surrendering to, having weighed Enjoyment level against Energy Level. And I remembered that this woman who tires more easily than she used to is also a woman in charge of her time. I’m the boss of me — a definite advantage of this moment in my life. And instead of Italian Book Club, I watched that last moving episode of This Is Us.
— As well, I spent some time thinking about the visits I had with friends week before last. Seven rich visits, hours and hours of being with women who know and appreciate and understand, even love me. Worth remembering in those wee hours. Worth holding space for on that CV I offer up as evidence of value in my life. Worth making more space for, as well, and I’m thinking about how to do that. When those crueler voices get the upper hand, when I let them “ruin my day,” forgetting that I have the power to declare it “a really good day,” what a treasure and a support are those other voices. When I can’t feel my own worth, how affirming it is to have internalized voices of those whose words I respect and give credence to.
— And finally, because we’re going to have to pull ourselves up out of the gloom more and more regularly over the next two decades or so, I’ve set a goal which my fitness trainer says is entirely possible, although it will take some steady work over the eleven months I have left in my 60s. Can you guess? Yep! I’m determined to be able to do something physical on (or perhaps before) my 70th birthday that I could not have done on my 20th: at least a single pull-up, possibly even five. Who knows? Check this space, sometime next May.
Meanwhile, though, I’ve reached the end of what I have to say today. And I think I’m going to go back now and add some illustrative images. Photographs of ageing architectural beauty, weathered old doors, rusty metal surfaces. Images we might connect with transitions, with possibilities, with changes. . . Tempting to say more here, but I’d rather hold my peace for now. Cogitate. Meditate. Listen to what you might want to say.
As always, space for your comments below.
xo,
f
Beautiful, just beautiful, reflections on life’s later stages.
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Thanks, Ruthie!
I am profoundly moved by this post. So much resonates for me. I am about 7 weeks from my 65th birthday, and very recently have begun to feel my age more than before, so this assemblage of thoughts is deeply meaningful for me.
I have been and continue to be committed, body soul and spirit, to full engagement in my wonderful life. (I say wonderful, even though I acknowledge that I experienced many challenges and sorrows along with all the joys and triumphs.) I had a rich career in education, and for the last three years have loved being retired and finally getting to engage my artistic creativity in ways I always longed for. . . Within the first week of my retirement my oldest grandchild was born, and becoming a grandma has been the most wonderful opening of my heart!
My little granddaughters (now there are two) are the best motivation for living my healthiest life possible, as I want to see how they each unfold as unique individuals, for as long as possible, and I want to be a positive force in their lives. My breath was nearly taken away by this in your post: “. . .the strangeness of a relationship with grandchildren, the intensity of an unconditional love for someone in whose life narrative we’re unlikely to figure as much beyond memories that are little more than sensory impressions.” That sums it up in such a profound way. Yet. . . I have a secret hope that even if it is largely unconscious for them, and much of the time our relationship is long-distance, I will have made a real difference in their lives, nurturing and supporting their individual gifts in whatever way I can. I am sure you will also have made a difference in the lives of your grandchildren.
I am wishing I could sit down and have a long chat with you. . . Maybe some day it can happen, you never know. For now, please know I am so grateful for what you share in these posts.
Author
Thanks for commenting, Linda! I’m pleased to know that much of my post resonates with you — I would enjoy that long chat as well!
I’m writing from the vantage point of 77, soon approaching 78, and I’m very healthy and active I am grateful to say. Because of the pandemic I haven’t gone back to the gym but have a water aerobics class twice a week and look forward to seeing my new friends there as much as the exercise. I walk a lot too. My partner and I just returned from a short trip to Chicago and the sightseeing we did would floor most younger people. I attend to my health issues promptly, now that I have a physician for just about every body part, but essentially just soldier on and am grateful for the optimism gene that I inherited from my mother. My greatest physical fear is deteriorating eyesight because, like you, I am a reader. I’ve reached that point where friends are dying and I do think more about death when I do wake up at 3am. I am a worrier in general, especially when I do wake up but then strive to be grateful for the fortunate life I’ve had.
Author
I appreciate you taking time to comment, Elizabeth — I like to visualize myself as still active in my late 70s, so your example is encouraging. That optimism gene is particularly useful, I’m sure. But oh yes, deteriorating eyesight is a fear; it’s hard for me to imagine a life in which I couldn’t read! Audio books wouldn’t be the same!
I am in my 70s and can vouch for the love of reading/eyesight problem.
(dry eyes, cataracts. My current solution is to use an e-reader and make the font larger when my eyes are causing a problem. And lots of eye drops, prescription and otherwise.
Such an important, touching post. I find it comforting to know that I am not the only one to feel sad or uncertain about getting old. I haven’t discussed my feelings with my friends. Several are non-nonsense types. And I am embarrassed about how difficult I have found to feel my body age and my face shrivel up. (I am 73.) I can relate to your deciding not to attend your zoom book club. I find I am limited at times by my lack of energy. And often I enjoy being home alone and reading or watching TV instead of something more engaging.
Your comments on the unconditional love we feel for our grandchildren and the knowledge that we won’t be a part of the long arc of their lives are profound. I think this blog should be published in the G&M or in a magazine or anthology.
I am in a strange situation. I have been able to dedicate myself to writing more intensely since I stopped teaching writing . (Till Covid, I continued to lead a few workshops a year.) And in the last year, I hit another level of success. But now I am easily exhausted.
Why couldn’t it have happened when I was 45 or even 55? And now there are the grandchildren – 4 boys. I adore them, but if I love after them for 3 or 4 hours, I am too exhausted to do anything else. For most of my life, I worked and cared for my daughters and then my mother who had dementia. (She came to live with us.) this should be my time – but I am constantly torn between spending time with family and friends – particularly the boys – and writing.
Thank you, Frances, for writing this post – actually, thank you for all of your posts.
By the way, I was going to comment after one of your earlier posts that I haven’t read any of the Rocco Schiavone books, but I have watched three seasons of the TV show, which was such a treat.
Author
Thanks for the kind and encouraging words about my writing — much appreciated, especially from someone with your background!
I wonder how many men feel the same way, disappointed at their lack of energy just when they finally have some freedom dedicate time to something they’ve longed to concentrate on . . .
A lovely, thought-provoking post, Frances! We are just about the same age, and like you, the realization that I will likely be the one “left behind” one day comes more often now. These are (mostly!) sweet days in a very long-term relationship.
I was lucky to become a grandmother at a relatively young age — my oldest grandchild is 19 — and have had time to build up many memories. My own grandmothers (and even my great-aunt Lottie, born near the end of the 19th century) live on in stories passed down to my children and grandchildren. Us mid-century babies are blessed to have known family from three centuries! I do wonder what stories my descendants will tell about me!
Author
Yes! I’ve often thought this about the luck of our generation in knowing family from such a long time span. I have clear memories of my grandparents, all of whom were born in the 19th century, and here we are now in the 21st — and depending how we care for this planet, my grandchildren have a good chance of making it to the 22nd!
I too spend time – too much time – doing mental arithmetic. Very soon I will be the same age my mother was when my father died. That’s an odd feeling. I can lie awake comparing myself with my aunt, my grandmothers at my age and find it astounding. The other day I had an eye test and found that I have signs of clouding of my lenses, age-related and normal, nothing to worry about but…you know…cataracts…I take tablets to rebuild my crumbling bones. Today I have been looking at very old family photos, a holiday taken in 1966, that little girl and she is me too. The sights and smells of that holiday are as vivid to me as if it were last week. Time plays tricks and the joke is on us.
Hi Annie,
My eye-exam before last (about 3 years before) my optometrist said she saw signs of a cataract developing. This freaked me out and I consulted my dear friend who’s a holistic vet and expert on nutrition and supplements. He recommended I try a product called Can-C. I used it faithfully and last year when I went for my checkup, there was no sign of the cataract.
I have no stake in the product, and just wanted to share the information with you and others.
Best wishes.
Hi Frances … I’d like to think that one day I’ll sit down and write about my feelings as eloquently as and honestly as you do.
So much, in fact pretty much all , of this post has resonated with me and I feel so grateful to you and Sue for starting such honest and thought provoking conversations. Also to the ladies here who’ve shared their thoughts and feelings.
You’ve such a supportive community here.
Only a few days ago I was sharing the words you said to me when one of my brothers died, with a younger relative … those words helped me so much and I believe they will help her too.
Take care Frances and thank you for ALL of your posts.
Rosie xx
I reached 70 this year and my 70th birthday was so different from my 60th. No gathering of friends in celebration, no immediate travel plans and a husband recovering from his second surgery. We will never have grandchildren and I have not renewed my teaching license for 2022. After having worked for most of my life, I have no work. Although I have my pensions, I treasured the “extra” money that come from my substitute teaching.
On the other hand, I am very healthy and strong. I am working on strength and mobility with my trainer. My blood pressure is better than ever. Unfortunately, my husband who ran and played racquet sports and who was so boyish (maybe too much s0) is shuffling in his step and forgetful. At 75, the long pandemic without opportunities to meet with friends and to play music, his mood disorder has settled into a permanent state of depression.
At 70, I can probably count on my fingers the number of long trips that I will take. I’ve travelled a lot and enjoyed it but the end will come. Our lines and saggy bits will resist the “anti-aging” products. Older women have their own beauty. Aging is not a choice so our job is to stay s strong as possible and to enjoy our lives in whatever way we find meaningful.
Author
So much change in that decade, some of it life-changing and sobering and sad.
Wise to do the most you can to maintain health, fitness, strength, and mobility, and I suspect you have some wonderful travel still ahead of you, although yes, there will be an end to it. I hope when our travel has to stop we will find ways to draw on what we’ve learned from it — Diane Athill, in one of her last two or three books, speaks of herself in an assisted-living facility in her 90s, reliving time spent in Florence, I believe, in her youth. The travel memories take her there again, as she sits in her chair. You will have a rich trove in your travel memories, I know.
I found this post deeply moving. My 69th birthday is in August and I understand so many of your feelings. However my perspective changed somewhat ,when I was diagnosed with Leukemia a week after my 68th birthday. This past year , undergoing treatment , has given me time to remember and reflect , to make each day one of memories for my loved ones to treasure and to wake each morning with a heart full of gratitude for the gift of another day . I am usually a reader not a commenter but would like to say how much I enjoy your thought provoking posts. Thanks for sharing your life with us.
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Thanks for this, Mary B. My father lived with cancer for many years, and it accelerated considerably when he was about 68 or 69 (My age now). Throughout, he inspired us all by living the way you speak of, and the inspiration continues, 22 years later. Such a gift you’re giving your loved ones. I wish you all the best with your health.
Beautiful thoughtful post. Your thoughts resonnate with me. I also have read other comments, what a wonderful community you have created here Frances. Thank you
Author
You’re very welcome, Lesley. Thanks your being part of it.
I must restrain myself Frances else I shall write a comment as long as your post though not as eloquent . At 74 so many of your points mirror my feelings . The hand on hubbies arm in the night , the worries in the dark hours ( when asked if he had this problem Max replied ‘ no what’s the point ‘ & he is not an insensitive man ) There are other effects too . I have no patience for hustle & bustle now . I , who enjoyed fighting my way through frantic street markets in India & the far East now prefer country places & gentle holidays . I’d rather be working in my garden than shopping in a city . I prefer lunch out in a sunny pub garden to dinner in the latest must visit chic restaurant . My needs are definitely simpler . One of the benefits of age is living the life that suits you , pleasing yourself .
What stands out in the conversations generated by your post & Sue’s too is that our feelings at this point in our lives are normal , wherever we are in the world . We are the most fortunate of generations to be born when & where we were . But our concerns are still the same .
Your little Italian granddaughter sounds like ‘ a chip off the old block ‘ as we say . She definitely has your genes .
Love your photos, by the way .
Hi Wendy
Your post resonated with me–I too have a ‘Max.’ I notice you are in the UK. I spent 35 yrs in the USA and then retired here in the UK (Scottish Borders) in 2019. I love York and my mother’s family are Welsh. I’ve also traveled widely and loved the buzz of cities. I’m off to London for a week soon, to see if I can resurrect that stimulation.
Nice to know that there is a fellow reader and blog follower close on a geographic level!
Author
Thanks Wendy — I think that’s what I’ve most appreciated in this conversation — that we aren’t alone in these concerns. We have company. I find that very comforting, somehow.
And I’d love to think that granddaughter has something of me in her spirit — she’s a force! 😉
Lovely and thought-provoking (and,yes,a little bit sad,too) posts from both,you and Sue
Anyway,my favourite attitude (and the one I’ve tried to learn to follow so far ) is F’s:” You can’t ruin my day.Only I can.” I love her!
Because,we have only now! And some people in our life that can remember the way we were,the impact on the life and on the others we had, how “important” we were ……
As wise E. Roosevelt said (even her!): ” Yesterday is a history. Tomorrow is a mystery.Today is a gift. That’s why we call it “The Prezent” “. I’m thinking about this very often….
Maybe one’s g’children will forget all the good and beautiful (although I doubt it) they received,all the wonderful memories they’ve built together,but now they know, now they enjoy,now they are present…..
My 64th birthday will be next month,so,nevertheless,don’t think that I don’t have my dark and murky moments…..but,one day, if I were lucky,I will be probably thinking about 64 “how young and beautiful I was” 🙂
Btw,I am the queen of downshifting now,and it helps!
Fingers crossed for your future attainments!
Yes,I agree,what a wonderful community we have here! Dottoressa
Author
Yes! That’s my favourite as well — I think it could have been a post of its own, so inspiring to me, and I can only hope she continues that attitude as she grows.
You’re a youngster compared to me! And you know, already I do look back at photos from five years ago and think I should have appreciated “how young and beautiful I was” 😉
Frances, both you and Sue write so eloquently, thoughtfully and honestly. I feel so lucky to be part of these communities!
I love your photos celebrating the patina that comes with age. Beautiful!
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Thanks, Genevieve!
Beginning in my teens I was convinced my allotted span was 67 years. I have no idea why I believed this or how I arrived at the number. Now a slightly surprised 70 going on 71, it seems I do face old age after all and I find it daunting. Arthritis with it’s lurking pain and stiffening joints. The worry that my husband will get the dementia that ravaged his father and sister. But we go forward, with grace enough I hope to realise how fortunate we have been.
Your exercise program is inspiration for me to get going again on mine. I was lucky to be part of a weight training program for over 50s at my local hospital. We had to commit to twice weeklly sessions. I could add a brisk walk (very brisk when running late) by parking a distance away, then weekly zumba and it was enough for unsporty me. Zumba is back but despite promises and other gyms re opening, the hospital program has not. Time to find something else, sigh, exercise is good for us.
We have one grandchild, there won’t be more. He is a charming, smart, funny, stubborn 3 year old bundle of energy. Our connection to him, without the stress of direct responsibilty for his upbringing is a luxury, our stake in the future.
Your photos are beautiful. I think older people are too, just not in the mirror!
Author
Daunting it is, but going forward with grace is the best option apparently. . .
I find that some external/social commitment for exercise helps keep me interested and disciplined and better-rounded in what I do, although the walking and yoga and most of the strength stuff can be done at home. And yes, “sigh, exercise is good for us”
We need kinder eyes (or weaker ones!) for looking at that older face in the mirror (sometimes I can be quite fascinated by the wrinkles 😉
At 46, with two parents heading towards 80 and a partner 25 years younger, I think about this all the time. It’s not an exaggeration to say all my recent decisions have been guided by it. Moving countries. Changing to a fully remote job. Taking 3 months off in between. I could die tomorrow is not a fear but a truth that has always been there. I don’t yolo every day. But I do live it.
Author
I might have said something similar at 46 (or even earlier, my brother having died suddenly when I was 22 and pregnant with our first child and he was only 19. Certainly, I set and met life goals (4 kids, my piano performer’s associateship, back to school for BA, then MA and PhD in my 40s and early 50s, travel). For me, there’s a different consciousness at 69. Physical, not intellectual. The reality that the body has changed, is changing, that the personal control you’re citing in those decisions you’ve taken may very well be curtailed. And because you’re 69 or 75 or 83, what you’re saying may not interest or carry weight with others, especially younger others, at least not in all its difficult particularity
So many thoughts summoned by this post Frances. I turned 81 this past May. In many ways I still feel like the person I was when I was in my 40’s, even my 30’s. I am lucky. I’m still mobile, in relatively good health, financially stable, successful adult kids, friends. I notice that I tire more easily these days, and some sort of pain is frequently present. My biggest concern is my intellect. the moments of panic when I cannot recall a name, the relief when it pops into my head seconds later. I remember my mother, a well educated women who’s final years were a misery both for herself and the family because of her dementia. she died at 92 but the last dozen years were so difficult. And I am lonely, even in my attempts to be busy, always something on my calendar. I miss intimacy, not sex, although I miss that too, but to know someone has your back. As the years have gone by it has become clearer that this is no longer possible for me, and I blame myself for essentially being unlovable, so to speak. I know it must be heartbreaking to lose someone with whom you had a loving connection, but a least there are the memories. But I don’t know. On a lighter note. I walked into the salon where I have been getting my hair cut. An older gentleman remarked that ” I looked good for my age” I took it as a complement but joked to him that it depended on how old he thought I was. He guessed 75.
Author
I’m honoured that my post summoned this post, Darby. Honest words and thoughtful and, to me, the kind of words that we need more space to voice, to be heard. Brave and poignant and powerful to say, “I am lonely. . . I miss intimacy, not sex, although I miss that too, but to know someone has your back.” And to say that part of the aging is that we can end up blaming ourselves “for essentially being unlovable.” You balance these painful truths and/or moments with evidence of compensations, of your ability to joke and be productive and active and engaged in life — you sound quite lovable, in fact. Thank you for the comment! (Curious to know how old your “older gentleman” admirer was ;-))
Beautiful post and comments. As I become older I realize that love is really all there is. I am in my mid 70s and will be a first time grandmother next winter. I had my son late in life and it seems he and his wife are doing the same as they both have demanding careers. I look forward to the joy this grandchild will bring me, knowing he/she may never remember me, oh, but my son will tell them stories!
Author
Oh, how exciting, a new chapter in your 70s. My mother was 83 and living with late-stage cancer when our second granddaughter was born, and a few months later my daughter and I brought that little one to the Hospice where Mom was in her last few days. H loves to hear the story of how her Great-grandmother, deep in a morphine and pain-free sleep, pulled herself up to wakefulness when she felt the baby touching her face, then opened her eyes to smile and say, “oh, what a beautiful baby. What a beautiful, beautiful baby.” Even that fleeting contact has become legend, part of Mom’s legacy. So imagine the bonds you’ll make with the years you have ahead as a grandmother! The stories!
Frances,
I loved this post. You shared the scary and the positive side of things. It is a nice companion to Sue’s post. So many of us are going through this aging process and it is nice to have a conversation about it.
Your wee hours are familiar. I’m not an early morning person, but those thoughts find the places in which to creep in. As I mentioned to Sue, sometimes a bit of depression arrives, seemingly out of nowhere and it is like wading through a thick fog. It helps to know that if you keep steadily moving through it, you come out the other side and feel better.
About the pull-ups. Please let me know how your trainer instructs you to build up to it. I’ve never been able to do one and I periodically hang from the bar in hopes that I will build up a little strength. I can’t even hang long before my arms hurt. It’s an admirable goal. I hope that you achieve it!
Author
Thanks for commenting, Dottie. I do think it’s a subject worth talking about together.
As for the pull-ups. We’re continuing to work on strength-building for upper body, of course, but she’s also getting me on a very tall box under the pull-up bar –to which she attaches a thick high-tension circular band. Holding on to the bars above and with her guidance, I step one foot onto the bottom of that band (which she’s holding open for me) and then, carefully, bring my other foot around to rest on top of the first foot. The tension band is thus holding enough of my weight that I can do the pull-ups, and get used to what’s required, what effective pulling feels like, etc. And gradually the band will be replaced by a lighter one, then a lighter, etc. until I can pull myself up unaided. We’ll see how close I get it. Any improvement is a gain, right?
Thank you for sharing all of this. The community of women bearing and raising children talk to each other openly, online. It seems more than right, perhaps for the good of everyone, that we who are looking aging and eventually death in the face should also speak out. That you do so beautifully and with such deft thought, is a gift to your readers.
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Aw, thanks Lisa. I do think that we have something to offer — to each other, but also to the larger community who will, after all, eventually have to face aging and death. Or perhaps have loved ones like us and would like to know more about what we might be thinking or feeling. . .
I am starting to feel like the White Rabbit because I am so often late but here I am with my head full of things to say. I imagine myself writing a letter, with a pen! On paper!! and will let that guide me.
I’m 63. And I know every year makes a difference. But people do have different ways of looking at things no matter their age. (Maybe even some of the partners mentioned here that appear so carefree think as I do.)
(ha ha there are two women outside looking at my garden and talking LOUDLY about the plants they can’t remember the names of.)
My perspective: I am an animal. An animal different from others in that I have an awareness of death. Nothing can change that eventual outcome. I want to tread lightly upon the earth. And will then disappear as we all do. I am a realist. The glass is not half-empty or half-full, it is an 8 oz glass with 4 oz of water in it. I will make things as good as I can for myself but there are things I cannot control or change and I need to be good with that. And I am, really. I don’t like it but I’m not afraid of it.
I won’t have to face the loss of a long-time partner (well if I meet someone today I might be with him for 25 years if we are both long-lived) and I don’t have grandchildren and likely won’t.
It’s not that I don’t care about things. I am tormented by happenings in the world that are driven by the horrible wave of greed, thirst for power, and selfishness we find ourselves in. Education and experience being outshouted by opinion. And I would talk all day about women’s sexuality and sexual agency given half a chance.
I wanted to weigh in because I feel sometimes we speak up more when we feel the same way, and I so very often don’t (although I like to read about what people are thinking and feeling, it helps so much with understanding). And I sometimes feel (this is nothing to do with you Frances! You are so kind and generous in your acceptance of all of our thoughts and opinions. It’s about social media in general)…I don’t know…almost shallow or guilty because…gulp here goes…I’m a problem-solver not a worrier, I sleep well, I love my older body, my libido is awesome, I have a small waist, I am short and don’t want to ‘look’ taller, I don’t feel invisible, I don’t diet, I set my pace, and I stand my ground.
Whew. Thanks for providing the space and opportunity for this 🙂
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I think it’s true that “we speak up more when we feel the same way” and I’m glad you overcame your reservations and shared your different perspective.
Because I’m not so sure that it’s all that different — at least, I find much that I agree with here. And I recognize, in what you’re saying, voices and/or attitudes of other regular commenters who didn’t say anything here today or who only spoke to what resonated for them rather than to what might not have. Which might get back to the way social media works, or just social beings in general).
I’m a problem-solver AND a worrier, by the way. And I will always welcome your voice here. It’s always been a thoughtful, cogent, and entertaining voice in this community. xo
Hi Frances. Sorry for the very late response. As you know we have been in the wilderness, or as good as, this past week. Thanks so much for your kind mention of my post. It amazes and delights me that we are so often on the same page in our thinking. I am not as good as expressing my deepest thoughts as you are. I am too flippant, I think. And feel I must make a joke as quick as I can to lighten the mood. Then again I come from a long line of people who make small jokes at serious events because heaven forbid that emotion gets too strong. Ha. Is that an Irish thing? Or maybe just a Maritimer thing?
Love the shots of the doors. So atmospheric and very symbolic… doors, openings, portals. Would love to be back teaching and use them as prompts for writing.
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Your post didn’t need my kind mention — it was very good and deserving of the attention it got. And I disagree about you’re being too flippant. Leavening the retelling of these darker moments helps readers back away from the intensity — which they nonetheless have been able to witness and perhaps to recognize in themselves. Your readers’ responses show this to have been the case.
I cannot believe what a tremendous community this post has unleashed. I seem to remember an old saying that says when the student is ready, the teacher will appear. in my case, this seems to be true. I thought I was the only one who had aged rapidly in 2 years of isolation, being told I am vulnerable, and also that I am expendable in terms of herd immunity. I’d never thought about my age until I retired into the horror of the pandemic time and then it was beaten into me at every turn. Now, I’m 73 and don’t know how to get back my joie de vivre. I go thru all the dark, existential fears that others have mentioned and my body seems to get weaker and weaker (no gym or trainer since 2020). I had a meltdown a year ago and sunk into depression which I’m gradually clawing my way out of, so it is so heartening to know I am not alone. Thank you for the blog posts which have kept me afloat for a couple of years (something to wake up to) and thank you especially for revealing a band of sisters out there.
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You’re very welcome, and thank you for the kind and encouraging words about my writing here. It’s a great community indeed.
And yes, that identification as vulnerable and also expendable . . . that was probably the toughest takeaway for me. So now to move forward; glad to have a “band of sisters” to do that with 😉
Such a thought provoking post. Also love the comments from this community of women!
I recently turned 70. My lovely siblings (I am one of 6) organized a fabulous party of family and a few close friends. How amazing that my 97 (almost 98) year old father was able to be there! (He is mentally sharp, still lives on his own but is physically frail.) I felt very loved. Despite the fabulous party, I have been thinking about my own mortality often lately as I find It is more difficult to do everything I used to be able to do. I tire more easily and deal with aches and pains and live with a chronic illness. The pandemic took away two years of prime living time, traveling time, family time. I find that I’m a bit resentful of that but also feel grateful to have survived those two years quite well by trying to stay busy, painting, reading, cooking, enjoying my home. I’m lucky to have a caring, longtime partner (51 years!), two wonderful children and four grandchildren. How fortunate am I to see two grand daughters graduate from college and to have a fun 7 year old to enjoy! However, it’s still hard to look older, feel older physically and at times it’s quite depressing. Most of the time, I just live my life and try to make sure to do the things that make me happy but when I can’t sleep at night I think about it and try not to obsess. My husband and I try to have a sense of humor about it. That helps. It’s also the cycle of life…..
I hope to glide into my seventies gracefully and with a sense of humor. “Old age ain’t for sissies!
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Happy Birthday Catherine ! and it sounds as if your siblings made sure that it was — as your positive “attitude of gratitude” will have done, as well. Gratitude and that sense of humour!
Such a beautiful post, and such beautiful responses, Frances! I’m a few years behind (64) but I’m definitely wrestling with some related issues – worrying about whether my life has become too unstructured, realizing that I need to do more upper body work and trying to figure out how to go about it, thinking about how to set myself up for physical/mental/emotional well-being as I inch towards senior citizen status. But at the same time I’m very happy with life in general, which I think counts for something and takes the edge off of some of those worries. I will be cheering you on as you work towards your amazing pull-up goal!
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Thanks, Carol! I imagine the energy of that big move you made will go a long way to propelling you happily through your sixties, seventies, and beyond. So much, for me at least, has to do with having new horizons to discover (although if confined to a more limited geographic space, we can make those horizons metaphorical ones) .
Such a fine post, thank you, and also for reminding me of the beauty of old and weathered things. Your words came to me like disparate voices on a grey, foggy night, reaching me from different directions/perspectives, as if several people were speaking on a common theme, separate but together. My husband and I (I always hear HM Queen Elizabeth’s voice on the few occasions I use those words) are in our late 60s and he’s had a number of tests over the last 3 months to investigate various ailments. He’s come through them relatively well, but it was a distressing reminder that we are no longer young or even middle-aged, and that we are unlikely to escape major challenges in the years ahead. I share your concerns about the meaning and value of my life but at some level at least, I also believe that meaning and value are less important, and certainly less controllable, than enjoyment and love. I think it’s great that you opted out of the Italian class and allowed yourself to do exactly as you wished. May there be a lot more of that in all our lives.
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You’re very welcome, Maria — thanks for commenting.
Yes, those reminders . . . they can really burst our illusions! Really? I’m not 45 or 55 or even 65 anymore?
Enjoyment and love . . . perhaps therein is found the meaning and value. Thanks for that framing.
Echo, echo, echo…..I’ve kept this post and it’s comments present on my screen and return again and again — to read through all the beauty and openness here, to the community of women aging and all the emotions, thoughts and reflections that arise. At 67, I’m feeling all of it—resonating, echoing.
Thank you so very much for all your posts, but to you (and Sue) especially for these ones. This should be published, for a wider audience; however I feel lucky to have subscribed and read it, and will return again.
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Thanks so much for these thoughtful and encouraging words! Really significant to me to know the post resonates with others. xo