{"id":4102,"date":"2014-04-19T09:32:34","date_gmt":"2014-04-19T13:32:34","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.katrinakenison.com\/?p=4102"},"modified":"2014-04-19T09:32:34","modified_gmt":"2014-04-19T13:32:34","slug":"aging-grace-gratitude","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"http:\/\/katrinakenison.com\/new\/aging-grace-gratitude\/","title":{"rendered":"Dear Old(er): aging with grace"},"content":{"rendered":"

\"Helen<\/p>\n

This is the third in a series of letters between me and my friend, author Margaret Roach<\/a>, on the challenges (and joys!) of aging. I\u2019m Old (just 55) and she\u2019s Older (facing 60 this year). And since we\u2019re surely not the only ones buying wrinkle creams, we decided to share our exchange with you, too. Be sure to read Margaret\u2019s letter to me here<\/a>.<\/em><\/p>\n

D<\/span>ear Old(er),<\/p>\n

I\u2019m thinking maybe we should come up with some new words for us.<\/p>\n

Have you noticed that a few of our (older<\/i>) readers have pointed out that, at 55 and 60, we aren\u2019t quite \u201cthere\u201d yet? \u00a0My guess: to them we look less like a pair of wise elders and more like a couple of adolescents who are insisting they\u2019re adults and want to be treated as such.\u00a0 \u00a0No matter that our curfews these days are entirely self-imposed or that, rather than indulging in hedonistic excess, we\u2019ve pretty much renounced all our youthful vices. The point is, if we\u2019re old now<\/i>, what will we call ourselves at 85 and 90?\u00a0 (We are<\/i> planning to be writing to each other thirty years from now, right?)<\/p>\n

At first I didn\u2019t think much of it.\u00a0 I certainly feel<\/i> old many mornings, as I gently lift my creaky left leg over the side of the bed, confront the wrinkles in the mirror, and brush a bit of concealer over the dark circles under my eyes.<\/p>\n

But lately it\u2019s occurred to me that maybe we haven\u2019t really earned the right to our epistolary nicknames here.\u00a0 True, \u201cmiddle-aged\u201d doesn\u2019t quite fit either, since we\u2019re both technically on the back side of the middle, somewhere in the grayish \u00a0two-thirds territory \u2013 well beyond the half-way mark, not yet approaching the end, and still advancing along the path on our own two feet.<\/p>\n

Yet, I have to say, lately even the \u201cold\u201d people I meet don\u2019t seem all that old.<\/p>\n

I\u2019m thinking, for instance, of Helen (that’s her up top), who is 81 and works in a hip little boutique in Ojai, California, where we met while I was on vacation last month.\u00a0 I stopped in to try on a pair of shoes and ended up staying to chat for half an hour, so much did we find in common.<\/p>\n

Helen took up yoga in her fifties and went on to get certified as a teacher.\u00a0 She and her husband bike around town on a red tandem and teach yoga to anyone who\u2019s ready to release a little fear and open up to a little love. That\u2019s the kind of practice they do, meeting students exactly where they are.\u00a0 Between her “real” jobs, Helen \u00a0volunteers at a local organic farm. \u00a0I think she looks pretty great in those overalls, but she also happens to be a great model for the lovely clothes she sells.\u00a0 With her short, chic, silver hair, her funky round eyeglasses, dangly earrings, pedicured toes, and cool, chunky sandals, she just doesn\u2019t fit any of my \u201cold\u201d stereotypes.\u00a0 If I had to describe her, old<\/i> isn\u2019t even a word that would come to mind.\u00a0 She is beautiful, alive, warm, lithe, engaging, compassionate, open, curious, fun.\u00a0 If I lived in Ojai, I\u2019m pretty sure we\u2019d be great friends.\u00a0 Instead, we exchanged email addresses and made plans for a yoga date next March, when I return.<\/p>\n

I think of Pat, who was in the audience at a talk I gave last week.\u00a0 I spoke about change and loss, and about letting go of old roles and routines and dreams, to make space for new ones to begin to take shape.\u00a0 After everyone else had left, Pat stayed behind to clear tables and empty trash.\u00a0 \u201cI\u2019m 85,\u201d she said, \u201cand I\u2019ve let go of a lot, including my husband. I couldn\u2019t imagine how I\u2019d go on after he died.\u00a0 But I did, and now, I have to tell you, I love my life.\u201d\u00a0 Pat explained that she didn\u2019t need to rush home to a family, so she could stay out late and help with clean up.\u00a0 She didn\u2019t expect any special treatment; in fact, the opposite.\u00a0 \u201cI just look around to see how I can be useful,\u201d she said, folding a tablecloth into neat thirds.<\/p>\n

And then there\u2019s Shirl, who\u2019s 88 and just getting back to yoga this spring after having to take the winter off.\u00a0 \u201cI had an operation on my eyes,\u201d she explains, \u201cso I couldn\u2019t put my head down for a while.\u00a0 Right after that, there was the time change, and I don\u2019t drive after dark anymore. \u00a0So I missed the whole winter, but now it\u2019s light at 5:30, and here I am.\u201d<\/p>\n

Indeed. \u00a0Her balance is a little wobbly, and her hearing not what it once was. But her forward bend is graceful and quiet, her delight in her practice palpable, her spirit infectious.\u00a0 She gives me a friendly wink and a wave from across the room. Did I mention that Shirl comes to class in a pair of pink sweatpants with two words across the back: Bad Ass?<\/i> \u201cMy grand-daughter gave me these,\u201d she says, her eyes crinkling at the corners. \u201cAnd I figure, at my age, I can wear whatever I want.\u201d<\/p>\n

I tell Shirl that when I\u2019m 88, I want to be like her, climbing up the stairs to yoga class and stretching my hamstrings and wearing pink.\u00a0 She laughs, takes my arm, and says, \u201cOh, dear, I hope you\u2019ll be better <\/i>than I am.\u201d<\/p>\n

\"IMG_7788\"My own mother, 78 and battling Lyme disease, isn\u2019t moving as quickly as she was just a short time ago. But to me, she’s aging in reverse. When I was 17, she seemed really old to me, an ancient thirty-something who couldn\u2019t possibly understand what it was like to be young.\u00a0 But now, almost forty years later, I don\u2019t think of her as old at all.\u00a0 Our mother-daughter friendship is so precious, and her perspective on things so fresh and insightful, that I think of her as more of a peer than a parent.\u00a0 My mom is my best friend and a constant source of inspiration and encouragement.\u00a0 Who else would chop a bunch of CSA vegetables to roast, see the beauty in nature\u2019s artistry, and share it with me in a photo?\u00a0 (Snapped with her iPhone, no less.)\u00a0 Old?\u00a0 Not! <\/i>\u00a0Curious, joyful, perceptive? More so than ever before.<\/p>\n

\"veggies\"Finally, we must consider Gloria.\u00a0 Gloria Steinem celebrated her 80th<\/sup> birthday a couple of weeks ago by presiding at a fundraiser in Philadelphia. And then, the next day, she flew off to Botswana.\u00a0 According to a recent article in the New York Times,<\/strong><\/a> she asked herself, \u201cWhat do I really want to do on my birthday? First, get out of Dodge. Second, ride elephants.\u201d<\/p>\n

\"7e08ba3615be1b1f80a909a9eddc6e15\"See what I mean?\u00a0 These women, so much older than us, aren\u2019t exactly old<\/i>, are they?<\/p>\n

So where does all this leave the two of us?\u00a0 Well, I keep doing the math and finding it somewhat reassuring.\u00a0 If our luck holds and if we take good care of ourselves, we might get to follow in their sprightly footsteps.\u00a0 Blessed with a couple more decades, twenty or even thirty years more on the planet, what shall we<\/i> do? \u00a0How will we keep life meaningful?<\/p>\n

When I think of all the time I spent in my younger days trying to figure out who I should be and what I should do and how I should look, I\u2019m pretty grateful to be exactly where I am.\u00a0 At fifty-five, and aware as never before of life\u2019s preciousness, its fleetingness, its randomness, I finally do know what matters, or at least what matters to me.\u00a0 Keeping a sense of wonder, for sure.\u00a0 And this: loving well and being loved in return.<\/p>\n

So maybe it\u2019s not surprising that something one of Gloria\u2019s friends told the Times reporter really hit home with me, too. Robin Morgan, a fellow feminist from the early days, says one change she\u2019s noticed with age is a deeper appreciation for the special, intimate relationships that sustain us.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019ve noticed that we, all of us, sort of cling to each other more,\u201d she said.\u00a0 \u201cWe say \u2018I love you\u2019 at the end of conversations.\u00a0 We call to say \u2018It\u2019s very cold out \u2013 did you wear an extra scarf?\u2019\u00a0 There\u2019s a lot of tenderness.\u201d<\/p>\n

Tenderness<\/i>.\u00a0 I love this word and all it represents.<\/p>\n

No longer in ascension but not exactly in decline yet either, no longer needed by anyone in the way I once was, I do still have something to offer the world — though\u00a0\u00a0<\/span>I\u2019m not always quite sure just <\/span>what.<\/i>\u00a0 Most days, I figure out my next step by standing still, looking around, and asking the same question Pat does: \u201cHow can I be useful here?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

Well, maybe my answer comes down to this one rather old-fashioned word.\u00a0 Tenderness<\/i>.<\/p>\n

Tenderness toward my own imperfect, vulnerable, aging self. \u00a0Tenderness toward my young adult sons as they flail and fall and find their way into lives of their own.\u00a0 Tenderness toward my husband, ten years older than me, as he looks ahead and does his<\/i> math and tries to form a vision for our next chapter together.\u00a0 Tenderness toward my dear friends and loved ones \u2013 for aren\u2019t we all absorbing losses and meeting challenges in our lives, even as we discover some unexpected new freedoms? \u00a0Tenderness for all beings, including those who struggle simply to stay alive and those who struggle to lead us forward. \u00a0Tenderness for the earth itself, resilient and vulnerable and in need of our care.<\/p>\n

My guess is there\u2019s nothing and no one in this vast, needy world that couldn\u2019t benefit from a bit of unconditional tenderness.<\/p>\n

So I\u2019m thinking — maybe the best way to stave off the encroaching sense of ourselves as \u201cold,\u201d and all the diminishment the word implies, is simply to take a cue from some \u00a0mentors in the art of growing older. There\u2019s an organic affinity, as William James astutely observed, between joy and tenderness.\u00a0 It sounds right to me; joy and a youthful spirit are the side-effects of loving \u00a0\u2013\u2013 perhaps not quite so passionately as we once did, but more wholeheartedly and tenderly than ever.<\/p>\n

Back to my idea of coming up with a label for this nameless liminal space between mid-life and old age.\u00a0 How about the Tender Years?<\/p>\n

Love, \u00a0Old<\/p>\n

P.S.\u00a0 It\u2019s still<\/i> chilly out there.\u00a0 Are you wearing your jacket? \u00a0And did you hear that concert the birds put on just before sunrise?<\/p>\n

(P.S. To our readers: Margaret is over here<\/a>, with her latest letter to me. And if you missed our first letters, they are here<\/a>.)<\/strong><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

This is the third in a series of letters between me and my friend, author Margaret Roach, on the challenges (and joys!) of aging. I\u2019m Old (just 55) and she\u2019s Older (facing 60 this year). And since we\u2019re surely not the only ones buying wrinkle creams, we decided to share our exchange with you, too. […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":15183,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"nf_dc_page":"","om_disable_all_campaigns":false,"_monsterinsights_skip_tracking":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_active":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_note":"","_monsterinsights_sitenote_category":0,"_genesis_hide_title":false,"_genesis_hide_breadcrumbs":false,"_genesis_hide_singular_image":false,"_genesis_hide_footer_widgets":false,"_genesis_custom_body_class":"","_genesis_custom_post_class":"","_genesis_layout":"","_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[3,29,39,14],"tags":[145],"class_list":{"0":"post-4102","1":"post","2":"type-post","3":"status-publish","4":"format-standard","5":"has-post-thumbnail","7":"category-aging-2","8":"category-friendship","9":"category-midlife","10":"category-soul-work","11":"tag-dear-older","12":"entry"},"jetpack_featured_media_url":"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/katrinakenison.com\/new\/wp-content\/uploads\/2018\/10\/600x600.png?fit=600%2C600","jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"_links":{"self":[{"href":"http:\/\/katrinakenison.com\/new\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/4102","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"http:\/\/katrinakenison.com\/new\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"http:\/\/katrinakenison.com\/new\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/katrinakenison.com\/new\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/katrinakenison.com\/new\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=4102"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"http:\/\/katrinakenison.com\/new\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/4102\/revisions"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/katrinakenison.com\/new\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/15183"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"http:\/\/katrinakenison.com\/new\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=4102"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/katrinakenison.com\/new\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=4102"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/katrinakenison.com\/new\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=4102"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}