My Experience at Age 70
Looking Younger Takes Some of the Sting Out of Aches and Pains
BY ARLENE HARDER, MA, MFT
What do I like most about my age?
When my mother was my age and returned from a social event to discover she had on two different earrings, she said, "I'm so glad I'm not younger when this would have bothered me. I figure people just saw them and thought, well, it's what you expect with someone her age."
I've had similar occasions when I've been less-than-fashionably dressed. Fortunately, in 2006 fashion gurus don't control our lives as much as they used to. I don't know what I'd do if I had to wear the low-hanging clothes popular today. Perhaps young ladies with svelte bodies can get by with pants hanging three inches below their naval, but watching bare bellies in the mall on those whose abdomens are shape-challenged is a bit frightening.
Nevertheless, it seems to me that the advantage of this age is not only that I can ignore small stuff that might have concerned me in the past and that I can wear what I want (that is, clothes that needn't expose more than I wish to share with the public at large). By this age I've developed the courage (generally) to ignore what others say, to not feel pressured to keep up with the Joneses, to walk to the beat of my own drum, and to forgive human foibles more easily because I easily recognize my own.
When I look back over the years, I wish I'd known lots of things I didn't then, so I could have avoided the consequences of my ignorance. Fortunately, I've lived long enough so that at least I can put my hard-earned lessons to use.
As a recovering perfectionist, I have a more easy-going perspective than I had when I was younger and more uptight. Also, along the way I've developed a deep connection with what I call God or Spirit, which gives my life meaning.
There are other benefits to being 70. I am no longer raising a family, so I am in much greater charge of my own time. I can travel and read whenever I want. Because I don't have to earn a living at this stage, I can design websites and write books and articles that may not bring in money, but they are activities that use the talents I've developed over the years, that nurture me and that, hopefully, might make a difference in this crazy world.
What do I like least about my age?
Aches and pains frequently remind me that old age has crept into my life. I often think about a birthday card I got a number of years ago that said on the front, "I am sorry to inform you . . ." and on the inside it said, ". . . the warranty on your body parts expires on your birthday this year."
I think the discouraging thing about getting older is the way it forces you to pay attention to your body. You can no longer take your body for granted. For example, I have several medications that must be handled carefully lest one interfere with another. The fact that I can't have caffeine, wine or chocolate (go ahead, feel sorry for me — I do), is a constant reminder that I'm not young anymore.
More frequent "senior moments" are embarrassing, but I frankly can't tell whether periodic forgetfulness means alzheimer's is approaching, or that I'm simply continuing a life-long pattern of forgetting. For example, I've never been good at remembering names and can't tell you the name of all the reporters on "60 Minutes," though I've watched the program every week for years.
One of the things that most bothers me about my age is that today I discover that people don't speak as loudly and clearly and they used to.
What do I do to lessen the difficulties associated with my age?
When I was sixty, I said I was "middle-aged." My oldest daughter insisted I couldn't be. She was rounding the corner on forty and claimed that was the start of middle-age, and that middle-age didn't last for thirty years. So I conceded I was "older," but I wouldn't say I was "old." Today, ten years later, I reluctantly agree that I'm a "young senior" and am hanging on to that early-old-age stage with perhaps a little success.
You see, while I'm aware of my body's frailties and a less-than-perfect shape, I'm frequently told I look more than ten years younger. Just this morning, my hairdresser again said, "You don't have a single wrinkle. How do you do it?"
Well, I haven't had plastic surgery. In fact, I enjoy women who wear their age with dignity and without apology. Nevertheless, with good genes, minimum makeup, and dyed hair, I admit I enjoy getting compliments for "not looking my age."
I suspect I like being taken for a younger age (though I've never lied about my age) in the hope that I will, therefore, "be" younger. Unfortunately, my body doesn't always go along with the illusion.
What are your concerns for your next stage of life?
Despite my aches and pains. I hope to live another twenty years at least, if I can count on family history as a guide. My father lived to ninety and my mother to eighty-five (though they didn't take particularly good care of themselves). Who knows what the future will bring? Life is fragile no matter one's age, and I recognize I can't count on maintaining my current level of health forever.
Because my heart sometimes beats irregularly, I have a greater chance of having a stroke than the average person. So I follow a healthy regimen to avoid that prospect as much as possible, because I know that, if I have a stroke, my husband will bear the burden of caring for me.
For forty-six years we've counted on each other for support and companionship. I've told him for years that he's not allowed to die first (and he says the same about me). Still, we both realize life is "iffy." Such requests may not be fulfilled and there's always the possibility that he or I may have to spend many years alone.
However, I realize that millions of widows and widowers have managed quite well. Bob's father died at the age of ninety-nine, twenty years after his wife died. One of my friends has early Parkinson's and another has recently become blind. They both live alone. When I consider how they are coming to terms with their disabilities, I suspect I will manage well enough if I'm in a similar situation.
The road to the future becomes shorter each year and there are many more bumps ahead than in the road behind. But I know that my experience will allow me to better navigate around the boulders and potholes.
© 2006, Arlene Harder, MA, MFT
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