There was a short-lived TV show many years back starring the impeccable Richard Dreyfuss. His character was widowed I think, with a teenage daughter and worked in education. On one episode he said that women no longer paid attention to him at his age, they didn’t offer little smiles in passing and so on. In a culture so heavily weighted on female sexuality and its “shelf life” I just hadn’t thought how aging out of attractiveness and sexual viability might be for a man. I’ve never heard a man I know say anything like this, only that character, but it sounded true. It’s a loss for men too.
I have a theory – which is almost certainly not original in that while I did think it up, it’s likely well-documented or at least considered in social psychology tomes – that as we move through life we pay the most attention to our own peer group. So, when you’re a kid, you notice other kids. When you’re middle-aged, you notice other middle-aged people. And when you’re elderly, you notice other elderly.
I remember how much I zeroed in on other children when I was a child. Anecdotally, I was so excited when we got new neighbors and I saw little bikes being unloaded off the moving truck. Children! They have children!! Children to play with! As I type those words now, they seem bizarre as I consider what my reaction would likely be if I saw the same scene today.
Then, however, everywhere I went, I was pleased when I saw other children at hand. Which is not to say encounters with other kids always went off so swimmingly. Still, despite unpleasantries I remained optimistic about them as a group.
As I got older, my focus stayed generally with my peer group. I know I’m not alone in this. I watch people all the time and like tends to stay with like. When people cross generations (aside from relatives) in their friendships and relationships it stands out. Others notice.
(I think the internet has facilitated crossing generational – and other – divides between adults because it places the focus on what people have to say over how they look.)
Interacting with children one is not related to has become so fraught, I almost entirely pay little mind to children as a group. Since I don’t have children of my own, I don’t often find myself around kids. I almost never speak to a child beyond a brief hello unless their parent or guardian is there and then I am casting looks at the adult to signal my benign intentions and make sure everything is copacetic. Aside from these rare times, I mostly notice kids when they’re being obnoxious.
When I was younger, I really didn’t pay much attention to elderly people, except if they were related to me. As I think about this now in middle-age, though, it occurs to me that there weren’t as many elderly when I was a child. Not like now. Plus I just didn’t see them out and about, unless it was at church or something.
It’s been recently, I don’t know, the last decade or so, that I became more aware of my inattention to elderly as a group. Maybe I was sort of afraid of them when I was younger. I didn’t “get” them. And believed, from how I was raised, that I had to be wildly deferential toward them. That they were beyond reproach. Realizing that idea was nonsense and that elderly people weren’t special or entitled (independent of how they acted) changed my thinking.
I’m always good about helping older people when they need or want it but that’s no different than my approach to everybody. When I see an elderly person, especially one with a cane or other aid, approach a door, I’m quick to hold it open. My height makes me useful in stores for reaching up to nab an item off a shelf for what is usually an elderly lady. What a pain the ass that must be; when you can’t reach up to get the stuff on the top shelves or bend down to fetch the ones on the bottom shelves. Resigned to a diet of eye-level foods.
Most elderly people I see in public are in the background, not doing anything to draw attention to themselves. They are focused on their task. Do they lack the energy for anything else? Did just getting out take up their reserves? Or is it a defense, hoping that going unnoticed will keep them from harm? Does everybody look like a potential enemy when you can’t physically defend yourself? (Hmm, I guess you could say the same about kids, except that mostly I suspect that generally kids don’t know how the world can hurt them. And/or they count on being able to run away.)
There have been times I’ve engaged in conversations with elderly people and regretted it for one reason or another. To be fair, I could again say the same of people generally. And while I’ve never been openly rude to an elderly person, I don’t feel any obligation to hang around to listen to monologues, diatribes or ugly talk.
I’ll tell you what specifically started me on this thread now. Yesterday I was in a drugstore and an elderly man walked through, his hands tidily grasped together behind his lower back, the body language of someone feeling casual and at-ease. You don’t often see people walking around like that any more, have you noticed? It’s more the gesture of a man than a woman – a woman in public is more likely to have her arms at her sides or in front of her. And or clutching a purse or bag.
Anyway, I also considered that the man might not be quite okay either. See, I caught myself ignoring him initially, as if he didn’t warrant a look. And I thought how shitty is that? So I made a point to look up and make eye contact when our paths crossed a second time in the store. His expression was a bit blank, possibly confused, i.e., not engaged and friendly. Nonetheless, I thought, does it kill me to make eye contact? To acknowledge a person, even if there’s no reason to do anything more?
I don’t like being so wedded to my “group,” to the point I barely acknowledge those significantly younger or older. I’m not certain there’s a whole lot to be done about it, other than staying alert and not limiting my attention when possible.
I read once that throughout their lives, people tend to have the same age relative to their friends. It’s an interesting idea. In my case, for example, my friends have tended to be my age and older, a theme which has run fairly constant till now, even as the specific people have changed.
On the other hand, starting in childhood, one of my older sisters leaned toward people her age and younger for friends, and, pushing forty, even married someone younger.
If there is anything to this, it must have to do with the nature of the dynamic we prefer in our social relationships. I thought about that and realized I’ve wanted peers and people I can learn from.
With my sister, it’s pretty easy to understand too; she liked to be in charge, the ringleader of her friendships.
I am thinking that my way could eventually hit snags. Suppose I’m 90. Will I be looking for 100-year-old friends?? I can see where the pool of eligible contenders might begin to dry up a bit!
I do need to say that in sometimes being drawn to older friends, I have never looked for someone to “take charge” of me, i.e., tell me how to think, live, etc. Not all all. I have always been my own person and pretty capable of thinking for myself. Being interested in someone’s mind has consistently been the impetus for my friendships and relationships as well. I’ve seriously dated a man 10 years older and another 13 years older. I can think of two younger guys I seriously dated but both were long ago and have proven to be exceptions (so far?).
Another aspect to the friends business independent of age, is that my friends have typically been single, like I am (whether they never married, were divorced, and in one case, widowed). I don’t seem to befriend couples – or vice versa. Theoretically I’m not against it, but it hasn’t been part of my experience.
How old are your friends relative to you? Does the age theory seem to hold true to your experience?
I liked this summer, when all was said and done. It wasn’t perfect; I had things I was dealing with that were taxing at times, I didn’t do anything particularly amazing, and I felt a potent sense of loss at the recent death of Robin Williams. Still, I felt like I was “in” it, you know? That I didn’t wait around for summer to start or weigh it down with a raft of expectations before it got going. I attribute this in part to a philosophical shift. Instead of waiting or hoping for an optimum this-or-that, I’m more attuned to what is right in front of me. This has nothing to do with seizing every moment or living life to the fullest or any such hoo-ha – I don’t, never have, confident I never will. More a matter of paying attention, maybe, to what is accessible to me now, and working it, if I have it in me to do so. I remind myself that whatever I may think of the present, there may come a time when I am nostalgic for it.
I find myself revisiting the theme from my older post because I’m still exploring it, seeing how it plays out in my life. This summer was a good example. It was different than I thought it might be for a couple reasons, but I liked that I adjusted, focusing on what was working, and not as much on what wasn’t. There will ALWAYS be things that aren’t “working” but maybe I see that age in and of itself has brought me a bit of resiliency. Oh, I do my share of inward (and some outward) railing… tilting at windmills, but more selectively, i.e., just because there’s a windmill, I don’t have to auto-tilt.
I suck it up more. Many a time I tell myself in response to something I don’t like or would prefer different: Tough. Not to be mean – I’m mindful of that – but realistic.
“Suck it up” and “Tough” aren’t going to be too many people’s versions of feel good mantras, but I find them useful notions. The world – my world – isn’t a place that runs ever smoothly, nary a glitch or problem in sight. There is simply nothing to be done about a lot of it, but to adjust one’s thinking, if needed, and if possible. I’m reminded of the saying that success, or something like that, is the result of continuing to get back up. That ties into resiliency for sure, continuing to try, which, in the end, is usually all you can control.
It was a good summer.
I don’t know if I am unusual in this or not, but in the middle of life, I see myself on a continuum. Once in awhile I’ll spy a little girl, with long, light-colored hair, who seems bookish and sensitive, and think to myself, I was you. Other times I’ll see an older lady, one with spunk and her own style, and think, I’m going to be you.
It’s strange when you realize there are things, for one reason or another, you will never do again.
I’m physically strong for a woman and always have been. It’s something I took a little pride in; I liked being able to do things and not always stand off to the side or have to ask for help. “Let me do it,” was my go-to phrase. One time at a carnival, a midway booth was testing strength with hand grips. They had two, one for each gender. I surprised the attendants by testing past the top rating on the woman’s grip, so they handed me the one for guys, on which I scored “weak man.” (I could see it was a slur against men but I was happy to merit the rating.) In my glory days, I never did try one of those swing-the-hammer-ring-the-bell strength tests, but I secretly wanted to.
I can’t believe now, some of the physical tasks I used to do. I never hired anybody for any of my many moves; alone or with a few friends, I did it, hauling furniture, boxes, etcetera. I haven’t hesitated, when I saw a nice-looking piece of furniture by the road to pick it up and walk it home. Tables, dressers, a pine coffee table. For years, each season, I’d carry huge, old-fashioned window air conditioners – up a flight of stairs and back down. Again, I don’t know how I did it. They must’ve weighed 100 pounds or darn close, and given their sharp-edge boxy shape, were awkward as hell. The worry, in addition to losing a grip, was tripping over the stupid cord and taking a tumble, but I psyched myself up – you can do this! – and proceeded.
A couple years ago I managed to get a 6 foot long cherry wood dresser down a flight of narrow stairs. First I had to stand the piece on end to get it around a tight corner. There was a hairy moment or two when it got wedged against the wall part way down the stairs but was freed and it – and I – eventually reached the first floor unscathed. I knew that was the last time I would ever do a physical feat so extreme. I crossed a line. I was pushing it and my confidence in my ability to successfully pull off stunts like that was diminishing. (In this case, the imagined bad scenario was losing hold of the dresser and having it careen on down the stairs of its own accord, stopping only when it crashed into an immovable object such as a wall.) And I didn’t want to hurt myself. All my parts have a few years on them and they’re all originals. I need them to keep working. Never again, I thought.
I will never do a back dive into a swimming pool again, although to be honest, it’s been decades since I executed one. Still, for a long while, I imagined I could do one if I wanted. I no longer think any such thing. A back dive?! The hand-stands, which I never felt whoppingly secure with in the first place, are vague-ish memories. I do not expect to ever roller skate again, and ice-skating seems unlikely as well. I sucked at both, and my fear of falling, which rather impeded my crappy skills, I’m quite certain has not vanished.
I don’t know if I’ll ever go on a roller coaster again. I like amusement park rides but I never liked those. I remember just waiting for it to be over. Same for anything that turns riders upside down and/or suspends them in that compromised position. Or free falls, so that one’s internal organs feel as though they’ve been left behind. Never again.
If – and it’s “if” – I climb a tree again, I doubt very much I’ll venture as high as I used to. I get dizzy just thinking about far up I’d go, where a branch snapping, or a foot losing its hold, would have meant disaster. Besides, getting up there is one thing; it’s climbing back down that is the real pickle. How would I explain what I, a grown woman, was doing stuck up in a tree?! “I just wanted to see if I could still do it…” [Side story: I also liked trying to see if I could fit through small spaces. There’s a particular gate not far from where I live and not long ago I got tempted to see if I could squeeze between the rungs. It’s in a spot where people come to walk, run and bike, so I made sure no one was around before trying it. The mortification of getting myself stuck was definitely on my mind. I know exactly how peculiar a grown woman, who I dare say has been described as looking “elegant,” “sophisticated” and lord help me, even “glamorous” would appear doing such things in other people’s eyes.]
I will not be wearing a tube top again. They were never good news in the first place, providing no boobage support and constantly needing to be yanked up. Same goes for strapless dresses lest they have built-in structural features to keep them where they belong. It’s been a long time since I had a strap-less dress and any I previously owned were the keep-yanking-’em-up variety. Never again. I still wear short skirts and dresses, since I’m lucky to have the legs for them, but I’ve got limits now, or rather the hemline can’t be too limited. Sexy is one thing; foolish is another. Same goes for any apparel with kittens, monkeys, cartoon characters, or any other childish accents. No more. There will also be no big bows in my hair or on my clothes. Small ones – I do so like bows! – maybe.
Are there things you will never do again?
I am easily pleased and easily disappointed. I’ve always been wired up this way, although I will say that age has filed down the edges of both to a degree. Both used to exist in such relief and what I see now – as I write these very words – is that these feelings dovetail with an overall tendency toward responsiveness in general to external stimuli, be it people or events.
Who wants to be the person perpetually responding to every which way the wind turns? I’m in absolutely no danger of becoming a nonresponsive automaton, so bringing the easily pleased/easily disappointed trait down a notch or three can’t hurt. Age in and of itself helped, yes, but maybe consciousness about being too responsive factors in as well.
Taking the edge off is good but that’s probably about as far as I want to go. I know that if I wanted to be all Buddhist and Zen, I’d strive to become dispassionate, centered at the same level of calm mindfulness no matter what happened around me. Yeaaaah. Not a chance. Not only will I never be like that, I don’t want to be. I like my passion, I like being plugged in.
Long ago I heard the idea that people have what amounts to an invisible wall around them that monitors or screens incoming stimuli. My “wall” is very, very low. EVERYTHING comes in. By contrast, I have a sister who is quite different. When we were kids, she could sit with a book or in front of the television and I could repeatedly say her name in an attempt to get her attention, and she wouldn’t look up or hear me. (No, in this case, she wasn’t just blowing off her younger sister.) I was dumbfounded and would actually take to waving my arms around to snap her out of it. She was somewhere else. Her stimuli screening wall was very high.
I sure wouldn’t want to be my opposite: hard to please and hard to disappoint. Maybe some would say that is being calmed, but to me it sounds like being deadened. Giving up. I’ve written before about how excitement winds down with age and I expect that there’s a natural progression in most people to shift on the pleased/disappointed spectrum toward less of both. Go around the block enough times and you get a pretty good idea of how things work and what to expect. No sense getting overly excited about any of it. I know there are older people who belie my generalizations – the older lady who gets more appreciative and pleased with what life has to offer in her “twilight” years; the old man who’s more ornery and displeased with everything he sees (feel free to swap out the genders on my examples) – but I’m thinking of how most people age.
Yeah, I suppose it’d be nice to be easily pleased and hard to disappoint, but the people embodying that particular trait combo must be like unicorns. I personally stand no chance of being one, but think few are. I come across people who persistently play at it in a manner of speaking; uttering vague niceties and saccharine clichés that suggest being easily pleased, but I don’t believe them. These are the autopilot speakers, who always say things like “Isn’t that nice?” Or “What an adorable baby!” And “Every day is a gift from God.” However, their talk might as well be on a loop tape for all the more depth and sincerity it has. (Like they could look at a random baby and accidentally blurt, “Every day is a gift from God.” Oops, reboot.)
It’s an interesting thing, trying to find this balance and working with or against one’s own innate tendencies. I know how I’m wired but I realize also, given a few years behind me, that the feelings of being easily pleased and easily disappointed are transient. I can expect neither to stick around too long. I can’t or don’t hang onto them, which sounds a bit Buddhist after all.