I was thinking my way towards writing a post about ageing and mood (following somewhat on my post on Wintry Thoughts with some focus on moodiness and mortality). Cogitating, still. Nothing had quite coalesced, and I was wary of giving the wrong impression, of underselling the good moods in order to speak about the darker ones. Because generally, I cope quite well with the dips and the anxieties, and they’re far outnumbered by overall contentedness or, at least, an ability to begin an activity (walking, knitting, reading, sketching, making bread) that will nudge me back toward that groove. But whenever I choose to write — in the interest of keeping it real and also because I know that by writing my reality I make space for others to acknowledge theirs — there will be readers who express concern or sympathy or advice.
So I was not so much procrastinating as deliberating on what I wanted to say about my sometimes feelings about being old and getting older. . . and then my blogging friend Sue wrote a post speaking back to some recent expression, in social media, of Fear of Getting Old. As she says, in response to what is apparently being called, in some circles, FOGO, she “thinks that growing older is good. And not to be feared. And I’m not just talking about growing up, which is what I desired when I was fifteen. But actually getting old. Retiring. Getting wrinkles. And white hair.”
Side Note: I’m illustrating this post with photos I’ve been collecting since November. . . OOTDs that pleased me and that I took time to snap in the hallway mirror. Featured in this post, as you can see, are OOTDs built around a favourite — and most comfortable — pair of plush corduroy pants.
Connection with the theme of this post? Getting old(er) needn’t preclude dressing to express and please ourselves. Nothing to fear here!
Sue talks about her own contentment with her current situation at 67, and she also talks about her mother, in her 80s, pushing back against ageism. She cites a recent post by Alyson Walsh as well as an article in Psychology Today which summarizes recent studies claiming that old people have fewer mental health problems and are “among the happiest of any age.” And, Sue being Sue, she frames her thoughts about growing old with some of her much-loved digressive story-telling, taking us “back to the farm,” and sharing funny and poignant anecdotes from years long gone.
So I felt awkward and conflicted and, honestly, a bit protective of my own Fear of Getting Older, especially since I seemed to be a dissenting voice among the comments there — so much so that I left the post without commenting. Spent some time thinking about my response before I went back to register my reservations. And then some more thinking before I knew better what to write here.
As it turns out, there’s really not much conflict between what Sue expressed and what I’ve been thinking. Her post and Alyson’s (both written by women in their 60s) primarily challenge ageist preconceptions holding up their personal experience as well as pointing to other stereotype-blasting examples of active, interesting, vibrant women in their 60s, 70s, 80s and beyond.
Where I had perceived a conflict was probably in the framing of the catchy, social-media label of the sort to which we’ve become accustomed. Catchy but also potentially reductive: Fear of Getting Old, FOGO. Easily dismissed if we characterize this as a younger person’s superficial fear of developing wrinkles, grey hair, balding head . . . less so when we include the fears at later mid-life about being overlooked for a position we coveted and knew we could do well. Our own sense, in our 50 and 60s, that we were becoming invisible and we didn’t like it — and we have hardly been silent about that — might even justify a 40-year-old woman’s dread of sharing that fate. The reality that getting old(er) means having to work harder to stay fit and healthy — and that at some point that is less likely to be enough.
Speaking back from our experience about the benefits found in these later years is a useful counter to ageist preconceptions. AND (rather than “but,”) I think it’s also important to acknowledge and discuss, perhaps among ourselves, those real and valid fears that have to do with getting older. Because not only does “Getting Old” look differently on everybody, but we will also experience many different stages of it along the way. As positive as some studies might be about the happiness quotient and mental health of seniors, there is also considerable research-based evidence to the contrary.
Demographics (gender, race, sexuality, religion, income level)– and the sub-categories within a huge age (65-100?) of seniors. Whether or not we’re still living fairly independently within society — alone, as part of a couple, with friends or family — or in an institution. Health, fitness, mobility levels (and those of one’s partner or spouse).
I believe it’s reasonable to have fears or sadness around getting old along with an appreciation for this stage of life. I want younger people to see that we can still enjoy vibrant and interesting lives after 60 (I’d be a pretty poor parent if I modeled the last decades of life as uneventful or trouble-filled!) and I want space to share worries and unhappiness about what I’m experiencing and what might lie ahead. Because it helps to know I’m not alone.
So.
After all those hours and cogitation and deliberation — and, hopefully, some clarification — I would like to set out a worry or two, maybe a fear, even one or two small sadnesses that I sometimes feel as I contemplate the coming years. Because this post has been long enough already with my cautious space-clearing, I’ll stick to outlining the concerns most likely to bother me at 3 a.m. . . . and sometimes persist through the next day.
Not so much a fear, perhaps, but a recognition that after having built my life around someone else — 50 married years this August — we will be separated by illness or death. For the last six months I’ve watched a dear friend put all her considerable strengths into adjusting to her husband’s stroke, living alone but providing daily care and support. Over the past few years I’ve seen numerous friends lose their husbands to cancer, sometimes within a few weeks or months from diagnosis. All of you readers will have similar experience. We probably do best to acknowledge our fears or concerns, observe them “with curiosity” as therapists and life coaches are wont to say, then put the practical steps in place to be as ready as we can to deal with the eventuality . . . and do our best, knowing we’ve done what we can to prepare, to live in the present.
Then there’s the reality of our own health, the attention we need to pay to it now after perhaps being fairly cavalier about it for the first half of our life. So far this year, I’ve visited the dentist to talk about another implant as well as extraction of wisdom teeth (yes, I know, they shouldn’t still be in my mouth, but — see above about “fairly cavalier.”). I’ve also had a second colonoscopy and there will be a third before the year’s out. Yesterday’s annual eye-check revealed a surprising change in my prescription, and when I do my annual hearing aid test, I know they will need adjusting as well, perhaps an expensive new pair.
All this attention and surveillance is a privilege, absolutely, but there’s a cautionary shadow to it — that which we are hoping to avoid . . .
So that sometimes, my mind wanders down the path of What If. . . and I admit to being momentarily fearful of how well I would manage pain, immobility, institutional life . . . I wonder how faithful visitors would be. . . Etc. Etc. And then I use the techniques mentioned above . . . acknowledge, observe with curiosity, develop and nurture coping strengths (physical, emotional, spiritual) that will stand me in good stead . . . and then get back to enjoying life in the moment, coaxing myself, if necessary, with a favourite or a formulaic activity.
One more Fear (I have a few more, but will keep the post manageable) to address before I close out this long post and invite you to join the conversation, and that is a fear of loneliness. Very much an introvert (albeit a social one, and no, that isn’t a contradiction), I can be quite happy on my own for days, but it’s also very important to me to have friends, family, and acquaintances. I was deeply ensconced in the community where I lived for almost 30 years, studied, taught, raised my family, and then we moved to the city for a variety of reasons. I’ve worked to build a social network here, but it’s neither as deep nor as broad as I had.
My mother was not only an introvert, but a shy introvert with social anxiety, and she was often lonely in her last years. I’m different from her in so many ways — and much more able and willing to put in the effort that a social network requires — but in my lower moods, she and I merge in my imagination of myself at 80-something. Again, yes, I work my way through this. But if we see any value in acknowledging and possibly discussing our various fears, some of which might be shared, then here I am, Keeping It Real.
Okay, this post has taken me hours to think about and to write and to edit and think about again. I hope I might have said something that resonates with some of you. Let me know in the comments.
xo,
f
Thank you for keeping it real! I have the same fears! My friends ( some of them) bat them away—loneliness, illness or disability or losing a spouse/partner—because they don’t want to look at those possibilities. Like your mother, I’m a shy introvert, now also very hard of hearing and send most of my days alone in my art studio—but I still need my friends! I don’t know the answer but I think it’s important to think about future scenarios in order to plan.
Author
You’re welcome, Sally, and thanks for keeping me company. It’s not as if we get stuck in the fears, and I know you stay busy and engaged with the world, but yes, I think some vision of possibilities (some of which might be probabilities) helps us prepare.
We live our lives and try to maintain our bodies and minds but the third part of life is a period of loss. Whatever we do, we will lose partners and friends. My mother suffers from loneliness due to her unwillingness to engage with other elderly people. She chooses to live alone due to her social anxiety. Today is a sunny day. I have many good books to read. A friend is taking me out for dinner so all is well! We can enjoy the present and accept whatever the future brings with grace.
Author
There’s no denying it, is there Joanne?!
But yes, we’ve got some sunshine here right now, and there are good books — enjoy your dinner!
Gosh this is a wonderful post. Thought provoking, honest and so true. I’m mid 60s , working probably my last year as a full time teacher and have a husband facing a treatable but incurable blood cancer ( he’s very well at present.) I , like all of us ‘at a certain age’ , big life changes ahead and yes there’s a lot of 3am thoughts! I’m grateful to be well and healthy and living a relatively comfortable life but that doesn’t alleviate worries of what is ahead, anymore than (long ago) joy at pregnancies prevented worries of how we’d cope with a family. I guess the best we can do is prepare ourselves, our minds and our bodies to be as healthy as possible and to live as happily and purposefully as possible every day. Thanks for such a great read this morning.
Author
I’m so pleased to know you found resonance in what I wrote.
I appreciate your comparison to that mix of joy and worries at significant earlier moments in our lives — that pregnancy confirmed, the new job begun perhaps. So we’re used to the combination and can draw on some wisdom and experience, prepare ourselves as best we can for what might be ahead and meanwhile find the joys that are still here.
I am close to 69 as is my husband of 45 years but as high school sweethearts it really has been 52 years. We are both fit and healthy but I have found myself for a while now preparing myself to be alone. I have been schooled on all financial and investment info and regularly take part in it all now. The details are all in order but I still find my mind wandering not to grief but to wondering what life will look like. I have begun to force myself to head out the door for a walk when my mind starts spinning about it all and it is often. Living in the moment isn’t happening much and I am struggling towards that. There is too much joy to be had and blessings to be counted. Your thoughts have helped. Thank you.
Author
Sounds as if you’re doing as much as you can to find the joy now and to be as ready as possible to handle what might come. Walks are almost always the answer for me as well — just wish they were okay to take at 3 a.m.! (used to do that occasionally before we moved, throw a coat over my pyjamas, grab a flashlight and walk around our little island — not such a good idea in the city!)
Thank you for your thoughtful post. I agree with everything you said. Life is good. I am so fortunate to be able to spend my days how I want. I don’t feel a need to better myself, have stopped worrying about weight, abstinence and learning something new. I eat what I want, indulge in the second or third glass of wine, and take art classes because it is fun not because I am “challenging” myself. I walk two miles a day only because it is an important part of my routine and has been for many years. I travel places that interest me rather than places someone told me I “should” see.
AND, I worry about frailty. Recently diagnosed with osteoporosis, how long will I be able to take my two mile hike? My husband and I have a happy marriage, yet we are very different people and rarely see eye to eye on anything. How will we negotiate illness or life-threatening conditions? If I succumb first, will he respect my right to determine my own health care path or will he resort to trying to take charge as he has done for many family crises creating more stress and conflict.
Unlike other life changes that seem to come with no clear idea of what is ahead (who is ever ready for raising children?), we have so many examples of this last stage of life. Some are worth emulating—my grandmother’s zest for life well into her 90s, my dad’s incredible adaptability and optimism through many health challenges—and some we must actively avoid—another grandmother’s narrowed interests to soap operas and crosswords. Then there is so much we don’t have control over. Fear of illnesses like Parkinson’s Disease and Alzheimer’s keep me up at night. I can’t do anything about it, but I can’t deny family history.
I do like being retired yet sometimes feel irrelevant. And, I can’t deny that there are days that are dull and somewhat meaningless. Overall I would not change a thing yet I would be less than honest if I said my life is perfect.
Author
You get it — life is good AND . . .
Like you, I look to examples — those to emulate, those to avoid —
And the irrelevance — definitely feel that sometimes. I think some of that feeling is based on observable phenomena, maybe even truth — but often much of that sense comes from fatigue or mood and can’t be trusted, right?
Thanks so much for contributing honestly to our conversation. Nice to know we’re not alone.
Thank you for your thoughtful approach to posting about these worries. I admit, after two January birthdays, my husband’s and mine, I am often surprised we are the age we are, in 2024. We have friends who are suddenly in very bad shape, health-wise, with needs that are stretching their family’s abilities. All this to say that we do need to recognize the sadness that comes with our older years, as well as the joys and make plans! Lots of plans for care services, and support services and self-care and all the things we hope we will never need because currently things are just fine. Words to age by: make lists, have a plan A, B and C just in case, share with family and friends our concerns and be realistic about what can be done. This is the dialogue I’m working through, in my head at 3 a.m. Doesn’t help with sleep but these thoughts demand my attention. I must get on with things! Today!
Author
You’re welcome, Laurel, and thanks for joining the conversation.
“we do need to recognize the sadness. . . as well as the joys and make plans”
“Words to age by: make lists, have a plan A, B and C just in case, share with family and friends our concerns and be realistic about what can be done.”
Well said!
At present I have friends who are dealing with aged/ageing parents and the struggle is real, all round. Dementia, physical frailty, geographical distances, work commitments, their own health needs…a familiar list. Clashes of viewpoints, lack of sibling support..it can be grim. It also reminds us that it could be ours in years to come, something that preys on my mind. Out of the blue I have my own health concerns and fearsome anxiety spirals – which came first!? I strive for calm, refuse to follow my thoughts, distract myself with simple pastimes. I could choose discretion and tuck it away but that seems to deny reality and authenticity is something I value, in myself and others. So on we go. One dogged foot in front of the other. Grey hair? Least of my concerns. Timely post, Mater. You and Sue beat me to it!
Author
I’m sorry to hear you have health concerns at the moment — I know you don’t yield easily to anxiety, and have good coping mechanisms in place . . . and I see your wisdom in refusing to tuck the anxiety away because “that seems to deny reality and authenticity is something I value.” From our many blogging exchanges here and at yours over the years, I have a sense of your strength. Wishing you the best! xo
I read Sue’s post too and had to think on it…now having read your post there is more to digest and mull over!
I am scheduled for a colonoscopy this month and have some fears associated with the outcome. Both my parents had precancerous polyps removed and my father also had Crohn’s disease.
I cannot linger very long gazing at myself in the mirror anymore as I am constantly surprised that I am looking more and more like my mother and grandmother. I am not at all vain…it just reminds me of my mortality and I currently feel that I want to live a long and healthy life.
Those cords are wonderful and I adore the colour. I think you knit a Doocot sweater in that shade…
thank you for keeping it real and not candy coating your posts. Lots of us are dealing with these same issues.
50 years for us in July!!! Very grateful for this long and mostly happy marriage :-))
Leslie
Hostess of the Humble Bungalow
Author
Good for you getting that colonoscopy — I wish I’d started a few years ago. . .
Isn’t it strange when we see our mother in the mirror!
Good memory about the Doocot, although it’s more rust/pumpkin and the cords are rather a caramel/gold.
Coming to terms with our feelings about ageing is like trying to catch quicksilver. It can be everything everywhere all at once – lots of contrasting perspectives and profound unease.
I used to work with a guy, older than me, who complained every year about growing older – the physical deteriorations, the loss of youth, would women he encountered casually in shops or public transport find him less attractive or amusing? Yes, he was married, and more than a bit creepy so I indulged, not very kindly, in reminding him that having another birthday was preferable to the alternative. It became an annual ritual during our acquaintance, which left me cautious about disparaging my own ageing. In the mid-90s I lost a much loved, much younger cousin to cancer, when he was only 26.
None of the above diminishes the very valid fears you raise. The spectre of loneliness is frightening. My husband of almost 35 years was overseas for 2 weeks a few years ago. I chose not to go. But I missed him deeply. My daughter was also away for a few days towards the end of his trip. I quickly became so desperate for people to talk to in the evenings that I took to dropping in unannounced on neighbours for chats. I will be more a crotchety old lady than a sweet one and unlikely to do well in an institution. I live in dread of the loss of dignity and great pain. These are all good reasons to make as much as I can of the present, as you do so inspiringly. To enjoy life, family and friends and gather as many beautiful experiences as I can to store up against the inevitable winter. Two weeks after my recent big number birthday, I started Italian lessons. I speak English and Greek and studied French at school. For years I’ve tossed up between wanting to improve my French or learn Italian. I’m very pleased with my decision and that I’ve made one 🙂
Author
Your co-worker’s annual complaints sound tiresome — doesn’t sound as if his memory was very good either 😉 — you were an unlikely source for the reassurance he wanted.
Even at this stage of life when one might think we could risk the occasional complaint about some of the consequences of ageing, we tend to learn that the cost-benefits analysis doesn’t pay. The sympathy and/or understanding we might glean risks losing us the patience of the listener. . . .
Brava for taking up Italian — learning a new language is fun and it keeps the brain cells firing!
How incisive you are! You’ve helped me realise why I disliked the fellow’s (more a client than a co-worker) complaining. He didn’t really know me, or perhaps didn’t even care to try, which made me feel disrespected, and a most unlikely source of sympathy
I’ve been typing away for half an hour and there’s not much I can say without possibly hurting someone who feels differently than I do. But illness (physical and mental), poverty, loneliness, losss of loved ones are very real concerns.
I make myself feel better about things by problem solving so I’m in a much more relaxed place when I am taking the best care of myself and having all my affairs (including material possessions) in order.
(Once that’s current, onward. If anyone had ever told me half of the funny adventures I would have in my 60s I would have never believed them. Hopefully I will remember them, later on.)
Author
Now, of course, I’m curious about what you didn’t write. . .
Your approach sounds very practical, and I wish you many more funny adventures. . . May all your problems be solvable 😉
A very nuanced post, Frances, and one which I think is much more reflective of the experience of women of this age, if we’re being really honest, than a bright and brittle “this is the best time of our lives” front. For me, yes, it is the best time of my life in that I’m now retired, but each year is a countdown that I try not to hear, and there is always the thought that wasn’t there before of health niggles that might one day be much more than a niggle. I’m not a fan of Alyson Walsh, which I know is heresy in the 60+ woman!
Fear of loneliness is definitely one I share with you. I like being alone, but I fear being lonely in the years ahead. If one likes being alone it’s very difficult to fill a space with a carousel of socialising when that has never been comfortable. Health – yes, definitely a concern making itself felt. I’m perhaps feeling it especially today as I’ve had the run-around between hospital and GP over my postponed cataract surgery. Hospital saying my GP needs to give me the all-clear to reschedule, GP saying it should be the hospital. I finally had to get Very Firm.
Neither of my parents ended their days in institutionalised elderly care. My mother died when she was younger than I am now, and my father was so outraged by the prospect, after managing to stay in his own home through the Scottish free personal care at home for the elderly scheme, that he died the day before we were due to start looking for a care home. I try not to think about the prospect for myself or my husband. I’m puzzled by the Psychology Today article’s assertion that older people are happiest, because depression in the older population is actually a huge problem. There is maybe a period of time during which older people are happier, but that must tail off as physical problems begin to increase.
Certainly growing older is better than the alternative of being dead, but it’s simplistic to present it as uniformly delightful. I like my grey hair. I don’t mind my wrinkles. These are incidentals. But I don’t like getting old.
I do love your trousers, by the way!
Author
Sorry to hear your cataract surgery has been postponed. Hope that Very Firm helps. . .
My parents were able to stay in their own home until their very last two days (my father) or last two weeks (my mom) — but ours is a very large family and we could share out their care. I know that is unlikely to be an option for Paul and I and, frankly, the images we were given of “old age” homes during Covid was not attractive. . .
So: stay as healthy and fit as possible and celebrate and enjoy that health and fitness while we have it. And cultivate other ways to find joy for when that diminishes. Maybe wearing corduroy trousers 😉
Thank you for that lovely and obviously crafted mention, Frances. More than a mention, actually, but a lovely condensation of my post. ❤️ I hear you, I do. I took forever to write my own thoughts. And abandoned eventually the paragraphs which pursued my own fears. The biggest of which is similar to yours… life without the love of my life. But I spend enough time at 3am contemplating that; I can’t bear to write about it. Even here. 😕
Author
It’s a big fear, and not so much a theoretical one. . .
I’ve seen many women live through the experience, and most of them do end up, eventually, adapting and even thriving after their grief and mourning. I’d just as soon not have the opportunity to be one of them, but I remind myself, sometimes, at 3 a.m. . . .
Oh, Frances, you’ve articulated and began to write thoughts I have had now that I am the Frances 80 yo. I can speak of becoming a Crone with the greatest gratitude while at the same time, write about Loss aka Death with much sadness as I see the suffering of others who have already or are now facing the deaths of self or beloveds. It’s a journey. I look forward to more of your writings on aging.
Author
Thank you, from one Frances to another. Becoming a Crone takes a lifetime, right? A journey. . .
The hat, the pants, the scarf…..you have swag! Yippie!
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😉 thanks!
It’s strange but at my age now , 76 , I actually worry less about the end of my life than I used to do . I had a serious brush with death a few years ago & felt oddly calm at the time . I think perhaps my attitude was influenced by plummeting blood pressure but the sense of acceptance seems to have stayed with me . I was exactly the same age when it happened as my mother was when she died so the years since feel like a real bonus . Many friends & acquaintances have been lost since then & there are numerous others with health problems . Three in particular sadden me as , although fairly well , they are seriously depressed by the aging process . Interestingly all three are men & I don’t know if that is typical ? I can’t imagine a life without my husband now as we’ve been together since we were 17 & have rarely been apart for more than a week . I make a point of meeting up with friends , of keeping in touch etc but have to admit the time spent with him is the best . I followed through my new year resolution of meeting three very old friends that I hadn’t seen for years & I’m glad I did . One was not such a success but I think she was a little nervous & forgot to give me chance to speak 😊we’ll try again . The other two went well & with one of them the time flew by , full of memories & laughter . So I know I must keep my life open to others . When I feel down for any reason & have dark thoughts I ask my husband if he ever worries in the same way & he replies ‘ No, what’s the point ? ‘ & he’s right . We are all heading in the same direction but while life is good , we should live in the moment & enjoy it . It’s such a shame to spoil today by worrying about tomorrow .
Author
You sound very content at/with your age, Wendy, and very fortunate at having been able to spend so much of your life with your husband, your best friend.
It’s true that we can sometimes spoil today by worrying about tomorrow.
Some of us, though, will find ourselves (as my mother did, for years, as my good friend has been for six months now) with worries about tomorrow spoiling our todays as their lifelong partners languish . . . In such circumstances, joy can still be found in the moment, but sometimes worries and fears won’t be silenced until they’re acknowledged.
Thoughts on aging are so very different at eighty as they were in my sixties. I accept that my once Energizer-bunny self has less energy, but it’s difficult to force myself to take time to recharge. Independent solo travel, my true love, is much more difficult than it was even five years ago, but not impossible with adaptations and a slower pace. Sometimes the limitations chafe but they present a challenge to be managed.
Author
Yes, I find the same, even at 70. I notice that energy wanes, but there’s still so much I want to do that slowing down is tough. I’m also fond of independent solo travel — part of it becoming more difficult than 5 years ago isn’t so much our age, but rather changes to the travel industry overall, don’t you think?
I prefer to live in the present as it works for me. We are all different and will each take a different path. No one path works for all. As someone else said, we are all headed in the same direction and there is no denying that. Living a healthy lifestyle to the best of our ability and enjoying each day as it comes is important. Try not to worry and over think all the possible future outcomes. What will be, will be.
Author
Whatever works for you, Susan. What will be, definitely will be. . .
Thanks, Frances, for tackling a subject most writers prefer to keep in the shadows. Focusing on grey hair, wrinkles, and a saggy mid-section as the fearsome aspects of growing old just cloaks the truly frightening aspects of aging in our society—the losses, the loneliness, the fragilities, and the realities we will all be facing as we move into unfamiliar territory. Being afraid is probably a saner response than the cheery “aging is a gift” tone adopted by so many 60+ blogs these days. My Saskatchewan farmer brother-in-law summed it quite nicely, on his 95th birthday, by remarking “This getting old is real interesting”. We youngsters laughed at the time, but now I’m thinking he nailed it. By naming and accepting our anxieties, perhaps we can finally begin to hold more meaningful conversations about the “interesting” realities of aging. At 74, with the love of my life in his mid eighties, I’m already suspecting the years ahead will need more than a healthy diet, a positive attitude, and a jar of skin cream to keep me on track.
Author
Ha! I love your Saskatchewan farmer BIL’s remark! Interesting indeed!
Yes, the years ahead of you may pose some challenges — but besides the “healthy diet, a positive attitude, and a jar of skin cream,” I get the impression you have a good sense of humour on your side — we need that now, right?
Thank you for this great post!
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You’re very welcome, Denise! Thanks for letting me know you found it worthwhile.
I think when I was in my 60’s and 70’s I was more afraid of aging. But now it’s good and truly here as I am 82. I do experience ageism, tire more easily and am more anxious. Yet in most ways I am still me.
Ironically, after my divorce my biggest fear was that I would never find a partner again. I was only in my early 30’s then and was hopeful. That never happened. It is my greatest regret, but perhaps I may have been spared endless caregiving or unthinkable loss. I have learned to live in my own head. I have had a meaningful life. I do work hard on taking care if what I do have, walk and do yoga, meet regularly with friends, go to lectures, partake of cultural events, do some volunteering. nurture family connections. I still care about my appearance, try to dress well and such. It has to be enough. I am grateful.
To be a bit more humorous, on this last point. Tomorrow my son will be taking me to a concert in Manhattan and dinner, his Christmas gift to me. There will be a fair amount of walking involved. I know my Hoka sneakers would be the most comfortable choice but I hate the idea of sneakers with a nice outfit. So old lady. My obsession is silly I know, but that’s me.
Author
As I reply to your comment, Darby, I imagine you walking through Manhattan in very stylish, very non-old-lady shoes. (I like to think our colourful Hoka are non-old lady as well, but I’m probably just fooling myself ;-)). Have a lovely evening!
Thanks for the wonderful, thoughtful post. I just turned 68 and have parents in their nineties , so I have plenty of 3am worrying. My parents have made choices that make their life -and mine – more painful and difficult, so I want to avoid that. But I remind myself that I have to live one day at a time and I’m trying to appreciate the now.
Author
Oh, yes, that would be plenty of 3 a.m. wakefulness! We also learned a lot through watching our parents during their last years (although they were considerably younger than yours). . .
You’re doing important and challenging work as you “walk your parents home.” All strength to you!
Both your post and the comments are really interesting Frances. There is a very tricky balance to strike which I have to keep revisiting. By temperament I am a planner rather than a worrier. I do tend to look ahead and to try to take control and do things if there are things to be done. So when our experience with my father’s motor neurone disease and my brother’s stroke brought into very sharp focus the difficulties of living in our beautiful old house with reduced mobility it seemed to me very clear that we should not pretend that an ancient house with cobbles and internal steps and steep and challenging access was a good place in which to grow old. So we gave five years or so to making something else happen. We now live in a differently beautiful house which is highly energy efficient and which should work for this last stage of our lives. Now that I feel we have done what we can to make the next twenty years or so both interesting and manageable, for the most part I try very hard to live in the now. I go on holiday and run and walk and do my Pilates. I read and knit and enjoy my grandchildren and my garden. I look for the small pleasures in the day. Every now and then something happens which disturbs my ability to live in the now. This last couple of weeks for example we have both been ill. The weakness and helplessness have felt like a visit from the future. Looking in a mirror and not seeing myself looking back has turned me upside down. I do fear all the things you mention: loneliness, loss, dependency, illness. I remind myself that I cannot know what will happen. My mother, caring for my father with courage and grace, was sure she would outlive him. A heart attack took her out of the blue one week after they moved into sheltered accommodation. He lived for a further two years losing mobility, speech and all capacity. We don’t know what will happen to us and if we did know, that knowledge might blight the healthy, happy time we have. I asked my mother maybe two years into caring for my father how she managed. “I wake up every day and ask myself what can I do so that Graham and I can have a good day. And then I do it.” Not Pollyannaish, not sticking your head in the sand, not pretending that everything is fine. Rather I think it was a discipline and only achievable through the aforementioned courage and grace. I try to do it too. I don’t always succeed but I do so far always manage to get back on the horse.
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Your previous house with its wonderful garden and vistas would have been hard to give up, but your new one is gorgeous in its own way — and the blank slate of a new garden will keep you very well focused in the moment!
Wise planning is key, and/but as you say, we can’t know what will happen. Personally, I think of my worrying as having a creative potential (if I give it room) to reassure as I imagine or plan solutions to various feared possibilities. Primary among those is that discipline and courage and grace your mother called upon — helps to practice those in our daily lives and store up the moments of joy to revisit when needed.
Finally, I’m glad you’re coming out of that slump. Mid-winter illness can be a Big Meanie!
I do agree that what we can call worry can have a creative potential and I think that is very much how you use it. I tend to equate worry with a rather fruitless and debilitating anxiety which was very much something which dominated my grandmother’s life. Yours I think is more positive, more creative and more thoughtful. lt allows for action where action is possible and contemplation where it is not. I’m also very taken with the idea of practicing that courage and discipline which ageing is likely to call upon. Thank you for writing this. It’s an important post.
Frances, thank you for articulating the fears that I share with you. This is the year my husband and I turn 70, and I can’t even fathom what life would be like without him. We’ve been together since the age of seventeen, and while I had to be independent during the years he traveled for work, Covid and other circumstances have resulted in being together (happily) constantly. Like you, we’ve had to be more attentive to health. There are many blessings at this age (lovely adult children and darling grandchildren, but there are many challenges too.
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You’re welcome, Maggie. I find it helpful to know that I’m not alone — and to acknowledge life in all its richness, part of which are the challenges, the losses, the fears. . .
Well, de well, my darling sprouty sprout. You’ve loosed all the aging cares in Pandora’s box.
This morning, a Trader Joe’s cashier commented on my tulips purchase, observing—rightly—that flowers aren’t just for Valentine’s Day, and especially not tulips, because flowers make us happy. She compared me to her mother who insists a vase of flowers makes a whole room happy. (I silently breathed a sigh of relief the comparison was not to her grandmother.) Every TJ employee in that store seemed to be on a Valentine high, or is it because they are nicer to gray hairs? Dunno.
In the afternoon, I met my new doctor, he who replaces my primary physician of 15 years, whom I liked because she allowed me to be cavalier, as you said, about my health. Not so Dr. Newbie; he had reviewed my charts, my pre-visit online updates on future procedures, evaluated events and test results of past years, recommended actions, and revised my emergency directives. Concise, coherent, scientific. Change is a good thing … and I suppose I could be seeing more of him in the future.
Afterward, I met a friend whose husband has a rare cancer. Our reunion was in a revived neighborhood bar, loud and lively, where I swear we were treated like regulars. (OK, seriously is it my grey hair—tho my friend is a blonde.) We were serious, and we laughed too.
Everybody has something big it seems, whether I see it or not. The older we all get, it also seems my favorite people are kinder, smarter, less judgmental, more ready to laugh … and perfectly happy to burrow in with good books, music, food and wine a capella.
I’m just happy to be here … and when it gets too hard … toodle pip, old thing. At least I hope so.
I also am just happy to be here… and when it gets too hard I have done what I can to make sure my loved ones respect my wishes for a good death. Quality of life is much more important for me than living a long time. I have longevity in my family and that worries me more than dying. I’m also happy to live in Canada with progressive end of life practices. In the meantime I try to live life to the fullest and be grateful for good health, good friends and the ability to travel.
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Ah, yes, thanks Susan, I see you’ve made the same point I got to — being able to die with dignity and relative comfort legally and with medical assistance makes a huge difference in the landscape.
Well said. Well said.
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When I was teaching, I was often struck by how keen the young women (18-30something) were to interact with an older woman (and I was 50 by the time I had the regular full-time gig; was getting my own learning up ’til then ;-). . . . At the time, so many bloggers of a certain age were denouncing their invisibility, but so much depends on who we want to be seen by (and whether or not we might prefer to be listened to or included in a conversation, welcomed at a bar, etc.) So I agree with much of what you say here, except that I miss the opportunities I used to have to meet up with a range of ages — that said, I’ve made friends with young people here as much as with my peers.
We have laws up here that allow the “toodle pip” and I see you do too. I think this is a huge factor in some of the fears for many. . .
I too found that college students interacted with me and wanted to hang out with me. I think they respected my advice and experiences–more than my own kids ever did!
I always enjoy your writing… and this post particularly hit home for me today as I deal (and I don’t feel I am doing so very successfully) with a beloved’s illness, and his move to a ” skilled care center.” I am in the position where I have to make all of the decisions, and they are all informed by the things we concern ourselves with as we age: pain, loss of mobility, loss of independence, and loneliness. I struggle with those for him, especially since he’s young and hasn’t ever pondered this kind of stuff. I found encouragement in everyone’s responses. Thank you!
I don’t think any of us feel we are doing these things very successfully – but I bet we are wrong. We are, I suspect, doing the best we can, in a situation we are ill-prepared for. I have frequently suggested to my husband that he writes the book on how to navigate the care system because he is pretty much an expert now (circumstances being what they are) and had to learn the very difficult way. The best of luck to you as you pick your way through and hope you find the kindest solution all round.
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xo Yes, exactly.
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Oh, Donna, I’m so sorry — this sounds very difficult, especially for a young person. I’m sure you’re doing a better job than you credit yourself for — and I hope you’re managing to care for yourself, to be gentle with yourself as you struggle. xo
Frances … I thank you for this very thoughtful post which allows all of us who share these worries and concerns to ‘work through them’ and make better sense of them. Here, we are in our 80’s and have sold our lovely lakefront spot after nearly 27 years. We planned this retirement location well, but now know that we won’t be able to live independently forever. So off to a ‘well thought out’ seniors community in the city, close to medical specialities which we now need. This is our Plan B…we treat it like a new adventure, pretty sure we may not like everything about it, but prepared to make it work well for us and also to enjoy the amenities that the city has to offer. Ageing has so many unknowns and, sometimes, huge losses that a certain amount of fear can’t be avoided. We remember, though, that in the global picture, we are so very fortunate to be living the lives we have here. Onward! Just love your style – inspirational! I still sew and love it.
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Good for you, Miriam! We moved from a beloved oceanfront home to the city eight years ago for similar reasons, if much younger — it was hard, but I remember that my BIL said at the time, “Isn’t it great that you had 20 years there and now you get to do something different.”
And for the most part, this has been and continues to be “a new adventure” — we don’t “like everything about it” but “make it work well for us.” And oh, the amenities the city offers.
Thanks for kind words about my style! (and brava on the sewing!)
Hi Frances- Still mulling over your post and all the thoughtful responses. Two poems come to mind:
One Art by Elizabeth Bishop (first line: “The art of losing isn’t hard to master”)
“That time of year thou mayest in me behold” by William Shakespeare.
Both speak to these losses we feel at the other bookend of our lives.
My losses in these last 2 years: my mother’s severe cognitive impairment (which requires much more of my time and is very hard to witness), two close friends who have moved an hour away (she has leukemia and is profoundly ill-also hard to witness) and retirement from a job I loved. These poems and others speak to me profoundly-I used the sonnet in my retirement letter I sent. Thank you for bringing these issues to the fore
and thanks for all the responses.
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Such a thoughtful response, Mary. I’ve always read “One Art,” as being about the denial or sublimation of pain, of the disaster of loss. But it will out, as the speaker / poet wrestle in parenthesis (Write it!) in the last stanza.
The Shakespeare sonnet is very apt — the difficulty and necessity of love strengthening in the very knowledge that we will have to leave that which we love well. . . It brings to mind for me, as well (that winter tree, the birds) Edna St. Vincent Millay’s “What lips my lips have kissed, and where, and why” (written at the surprisingly early age of 28)
What a thoughtful post Frances! A part of me wants to sit back and think and mull, but I know if I do that I will never return to comment (history tells me this). I think you bring up good and reasonable questions and address them thoughtfully. I also know that my perspective is not always in the mainstream. I know that, having just entered this group called “old” (65 going on 66) I don’t have experience and I also know that for my age cohort, the majority, well over half, will make it to 80 or beyond. It is a thrilling thought but also one that can be fraught, as to concerns of what it means to live well. Loss of a long-term spouse is an issue. I lost my spouse early, after 27 years, and have not remarried. I am introvert, a social one, but still an introvert, and it does make meeting new people harder, especially as we age and somehow go out less. We recently had a snow that paralyzed my Southern US city, and although I was perfectly content inside for a week, I realize even more than before how important it is to connect with people.
I also went through a period, before I turned 65, where I went through some health issues and for some time I wondered if I would be in the minority of my age group and not live long. For me, that has always been a factor as I have congenital heart and skeletal defects, but I am otherwise fairly healthy and somewhat fit, working on that still. I’m not worried about dying. I see that as a given. In fact I am grateful to still be here today. I want to live my life as intentionally as I can, but I know that I go through periods of withdrawal, visits with the black dog, or perhaps times when my musculoskeletal system just refuses to cooperate, and perhaps I pull inward too much. That is one thing at 65, but it could be altogether something else at 75.
It seems to me that you take great care to be present in your life, to be thoughtful, and to plan as best anyone can. In many ways you are one of my role models. And one of the things you do that inspires me and gives me tremendous hope is the way you are willing to express your fears, at least some of them, and your hopes. Thank you for this post.
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A thoughtful response, Mardel. Having read your moving posts as you supported your beloved husband through a difficult last few years, I’m sure you have much insight into what old age and illness can bring, and you seem to me to have opened up new possibilities for yourself in your new home city.
The periods of withdrawal — which could become “altogether something else at 75). Yes, these are what I watch for, having seen them deny my mother much of the social connection she sometimes yearned for. Ruts that are tougher to get out of as we age, so worth being mindful of them along the way — wisdom! You’re on it! 😉
I read Sue’s post and just had to let it sit with me. I wanted to respond and yet I couldn’t quite work out the balance. Your post has really helped me identify the balance that I’d been trying to articulate.
Both of you write so well and so often your posts have flicked a switch for me.
As my 60th is just weeks away, I’ve been thinking more and more about this next stage. I do feel content in so many ways AND I also have concerns, anxieties and fears (intensified at 3am!)
Naming those does help me as, like all life stages, it’s important to appreciate the positives and acknowledge the worries. Thank you xx
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60 felt different for me — a release in many ways and I’m surprised to look back and see how much I did in that seventh decade. . . And I had the 3 a.m. thoughts!
I’m glad you find it helpful in finding the balance you were trying to articulate. Thank you, in turn, for taking time to comment thoughtfully.
Yes to everything. Finding myself in the middle of some disquieting health issues, combined with the usual winter depression and 3am anxieties, I cannot find the strength, at the moment, to write more. I hope that in a few weeks’ time I may be able to look back on this and understand what happened. And I know that I will have to make some decisions for the years to come.
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Eleonore, I’m so very sorry. I hope your usual fortitude returns soon to help you sort this out and make the necessary decisions. I will be thinking of you. xo
Thank you for the most honest, and most articulate post on aging I’ve read. I’ve always been “concerned” about mortality, but hitting 70 was initiated a whole slew of things. Mortality, the fact that undoubtedly, my husband or I would face a serious diagnosis at some point in the future, being widowed, other frailties etc.
Most of the articles about aging, discuss embracing wrinkles, grey hair, changing bodies (in terms of what to wear) and those are not my concern…long left behind.
I appreciate the forum you’ve given for us to talk about our deepest and universal worries, and to hopefully navigate a way to incorporate them, while still living a positive life.
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You’re welcome, Kathy.
In turn, I really appreciate your contribution to the conversation. To see others affirm my “deepest worries” as “universal” gives me hope that I can “navigate a way to incorporate them, while still living a positive life.” Rather than feel alone at 3 a.m., I know that there is thoughtful solidarity in this community. Thank you!
Thanks for this post. Well said and helpful for all of us to know “it’s not just me”. Maybe there are no answers, but we’re not alone. There’s comfort in that.
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You’re welcome, Jeannine — and thank you for commenting!
Such an important and brave post, and the comments are deep and rich. I have so many thoughts in response, I’m just trying to sort out any that make sense!
I suppose first and foremost I think of temperament. As Elizabeth says above, I have always been a planner. An anxious one, but I comfort myself by making imaginary living plans to cover the future difficulties that I seem most likely to face. These plans are colored by the experience I had with my parents. another. I spent so much time with my parents in their separate last years, and had my worldview turned upside down in so many ways, that I feel now the genetic optimism I have from my mother may stay with me as hers did. And, of course, the Alzheimer’s we lost her to at 86 and the decade before she died, may come to me too. With my father, in his last months, I could physically see his spirit, in his eyes, starting to try to leave his body. All of this left me with very different feelings about death, and also the sense that I cannot possibly know now what will come.
Which leaves loss and disease, and focusing on the present. What a cheerful idea LOL. But we have to look at these things–false and unrelenting positivity makes me gag. At this point, my husband is younger than I am, so I’m in suspended life around aging, if that makes sense. My goal is to stay healthy until he retires, so I can have him all to myself. I watch my skin turn to crepe, and at night as I sleep my left eye hurts from dryness. This is new. But these things are in the present, so I just try to understand if I need to go to the doctor or whether I can deal just through diet and exercise.
In sum, I make beautiful plans for the future, try to protect against anything I have any power over, and then just put one foot in front of the other. Besides, if I worry about myself how will I have any capacity left over to worry about my children??? 😉
Also I’m bad at exercise. But I keep trying.
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Thanks for this rich and thoughtful comment, Lisa.
We are all so influenced by what we have seen of ageing and death, positive and negative. (So that the less one has seen of a death to cancer or years of post-stroke institutional living, the easier it is to focus on the present — or, conversely, the more determinedly one might do that.)
“loss and disease, and focusing on the present.” Yep!And also “false and unrelenting positivity makes me gag.” They don’t call it “toxic positivity” for nothing (yet, see my parenthetical comment above, beginning, “conversely.”
Your children must be so impressed by your sacrifice — saving all that worrying to direct towards them! 😂
I am quite tardy in my comments as you gave me much to think about. I have never given too much thought to aging. I mean I do have MIRRORS in my house and at 74 I’m not springing up from the floor at yoga so much any more, but because I’ve luckily had no health problems to date I’ve just been cruising along. It is seeing frailties in my husband that have shaken me. Like you, we are entering our fiftieth year. He is seven years my senior and for several years there has been a cascade of things, one after the other. I hate to see him diminished and our time together running down. I worry about a solo future. So many of my hobbies can be solitary, reading, knitting, language study, walking. I’m still figuring this out….
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Ha! “I mean I do have MIRRORS in my house” — they can be fascinating, right? Who IS that woman? (or, What’s my mother doing here?!)
I imagine how hard it is to watch our beloved spouses beginning to develop frailties — Our interdependencies become so entrenched . . . You won’t be the only one “still figuring this out.” Thanks for the comment.
What a powerful post and responses! I’m reeling with being able to identify with everyone’s concerns. Oh those 3am blue!
I fear ageing–not the wrinkles, grey hair, etc, but the possible loss of faculties (I saw how my mother’s last years were) and of physical health (I saw my father’s last years.) I too have been married for 55 years and we had a scare about my husband’s health last fall. Plus I feel that he is losing his mental acuity–it’s really hard to talk to him about our need to move to a smaller place in the city and near hospitals.
My biggest frustration is that my kids don’t seem to recognize that we are no longer young, energetic, or as sharp as we were. I’d like advice from them in some cases–IT, financial etc. but they brush off my requests.
But, hey ho, a problem that I can maybe solve is hearing aids. I’m trying to get used to them and not happy at all. Frances, you briefly mentioned a hearing aid test, so can I ask you what brand yours are–and how they fit? This is one of the old-age things that could be fixed and would help my life–a small thing maybe but it’s isolating when you can’t hear.
Thank you for this forum on ageing–it’s so good to hear that we are not alone.
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Thanks for joining the conversation, Elaine. It helps, doesn’t it, knowing that we have company in our concerns. . .
Hmmm, that’s a worthwhile topic to consider, our adult children’s unwillingness to see our ageing. Hasn’t been a problem here, but I can see how frustrating it could be (as well as somewhat understandable from their perspective). I might try to tackle a post about it, but it’s an awkward one, to be honest. . .
As for my hearing aids, I’m currently wearing Phonak and I’ve been happy with Opticon in the past. I’ve been wearing mine for almost 20 years now (after realizing that I have the same congenital hearing pattern as my sister, who was diagnosed much earlier). . . I’ve always worked with an audiologist; the service provider is a very important part of the fitting, imho. My sympathies, though, for trying to adapt to them now — it can be really tough to adjust to how loud the world really is! Really worth persisting, though, communicating clearly with your service provider about what you are having trouble tolerating. . . Good luck!
Thank you! On the other major faculty, seeing, I got used to correction at an early age (glasses from 5). I have been short sighted all my life and got used to wearing contact lens when they were first available. In my middle ages, I got used to monovision lens, one for long distance and one for short distance. Then I had cataract surgery and permanent lens to fix my vision were implanted. That all seemed easy. I think you are right and that adapting to the frustration of corrective devices is harder at a certain age. I will persevere….
I can deal with grey hair and wrinkles; they are minor when compared with failing sight and sound!
The U curve of happiness is a lot of blah-blah-blah, Emperor’s New Clothes. Nobody, if asked what decade they would live in, would pick anything other than 20s and 30s. Some might pick late teens. You know, when you have choices, a future and decisions to make. Happiness isn’t a measure of anything. My cats are happy.
Judi Dench said it best “There’s nothing good about being my age,” she says with a smile. “Someone said to me, ‘You have such a wealth of knowledge,’ and I just said ‘I’d rather be young and know nothing, actually.’ Bugger the wealth of knowledge.”
Old age is nothing but loss, illness and hurtling toward death. Excuse me if it’s not the party line.