Aging

We’ve had a couple of odd experiences recently that have given us pause. A few days ago, on our way into a restaurant for lunch, a young mom and her little boy were on their way in when she backed up. I assumed she was letting people out, so I paused. In a second, the penny dropped (these days, shouldn’t that be at least a quarter?), and we thanked them and went in. I’m not sure why I didn’t recognize the gesture immediately, although we were far enough away, that they could have gone in without seeming rude. Maybe we were walking a bit more slowly than usual, since it was my husband’s first out-of-the-house-experience since his surgery.

People do hold doors for me, I’d estimate about 50% of the time. And I find it interesting that it’s often younger people. Perhaps the ones closer to my age are doing all they can to get themselves through the door. I don’t know. On several occasions, I’ve had people offer to help me carry my purchases—not store employees, other customers. That always surprises me, since I wouldn’t buy more than I could handle. But it’s nice that good manners still exist.

Several months ago, my husband was gardening at the side of the house and his back started to ache. He stretched out on the grass on his back to relax it and was startled when a young man from next door came and asked if he needed help. That house has renters, usually several singles, and we don’t meet them all as they come and go. He said he was fine and the new neighbor offered help with anything any time. My husband couldn’t help but feel that this young man must have thought that he was getting on in years. I said it was just nice for anyone to do that.

The question here is, who is old? I’ve read that old is 15 years older than you are now. I think that is correct. For years I’ve told anecdotes to my daughters, referring to “older people.” I always pause and remind them that I’m talking about people who are older than I am. Obviously, this is as moving target.

I hadn’t thought about it, but I suppose it’s true about who is younger in my eyes.

I guess what it comes down to is that we don’t see ourselves as aging or incapable. So, it comes as a shock when we see ourselves through strangers’ eyes.

Age is a funny thing. A lot of people groan when they hit their fortieth birthday. When I turned forty, I felt nothing. When I turned fifty, I had a vague sense of freedom—from expectations, I suppose. It was hard to put into words. Sixty came and went almost without notice. Now I’m wondering how I’ll feel about seventy. Honestly, seventy sounds old to me, which is very odd because many of my friends are in their seventies, and they are as young as ever. Maybe by the time I get there, it will be just another number to me. I mean, really, at this point in my life, I’d think it was pretty silly to worry about getting older.

And, as Mom always said, “It’s better than the alterative.”