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’m Old (just 55) and she’s Older (facing 60 this year). And since we’re surely not the only ones buying wrinkle creams, we decided to share our exchange with you, too. Be sure to read Margaret’s letter to me here.
Dear Old(er),
I’m thinking maybe we should come up with some new words for us.
Have you noticed that a few of our (older) readers have pointed out that, at 55 and 60, we aren’t quite “there” yet? My guess: to them we look less like a pair of wise elders and more like a couple of adolescents who are insisting they’re adults and want to be treated as such. No matter that our curfews these days are entirely self-imposed or that, rather than indulging in hedonistic excess, we’ve pretty much renounced all our youthful vices. The point is, if we’re old now, what will we call ourselves at 85 and 90? (We are planning to be writing to each other thirty years from now, right?)
At first I didn’t think much of it. I certainly feel 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.
But lately it’s occurred to me that maybe we haven’t really earned the right to our epistolary nicknames here. True, “middle-aged” doesn’t quite fit either, since we’re both technically on the back side of the middle, somewhere in the grayish two-thirds territory – well beyond the half-way mark, not yet approaching the end, and still advancing along the path on our own two feet.
Yet, I have to say, lately even the “old” people I meet don’t seem all that old.
I’m 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. 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.
Helen took up yoga in her fifties and went on to get certified as a teacher. She and her husband bike around town on a red tandem and teach yoga to anyone who’s ready to release a little fear and open up to a little love. That’s the kind of practice they do, meeting students exactly where they are. Between her “real” jobs, Helen volunteers at a local organic farm. I think she looks pretty great in those overalls, but she also happens to be a great model for the lovely clothes she sells. With her short, chic, silver hair, her funky round eyeglasses, dangly earrings, pedicured toes, and cool, chunky sandals, she just doesn’t fit any of my “old” stereotypes. If I had to describe her, old isn’t even a word that would come to mind. She is beautiful, alive, warm, lithe, engaging, compassionate, open, curious, fun. If I lived in Ojai, I’m pretty sure we’d be great friends. Instead, we exchanged email addresses and made plans for a yoga date next March, when I return.
I think of Pat, who was in the audience at a talk I gave last week. 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. After everyone else had left, Pat stayed behind to clear tables and empty trash. “I’m 85,” she said, “and I’ve let go of a lot, including my husband. I couldn’t imagine how I’d go on after he died. But I did, and now, I have to tell you, I love my life.” Pat explained that she didn’t need to rush home to a family, so she could stay out late and help with clean up. She didn’t expect any special treatment; in fact, the opposite. “I just look around to see how I can be useful,” she said, folding a tablecloth into neat thirds.
And then there’s Shirl, who’s 88 and just getting back to yoga this spring after having to take the winter off. “I had an operation on my eyes,” she explains, “so I couldn’t put my head down for a while. Right after that, there was the time change, and I don’t drive after dark anymore. So I missed the whole winter, but now it’s light at 5:30, and here I am.”
Indeed. Her 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. 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? “My grand-daughter gave me these,” she says, her eyes crinkling at the corners. “And I figure, at my age, I can wear whatever I want.”
I tell Shirl that when I’m 88, I want to be like her, climbing up the stairs to yoga class and stretching my hamstrings and wearing pink. She laughs, takes my arm, and says, “Oh, dear, I hope you’ll be better than I am.”
My own mother, 78 and battling Lyme disease, isn’t 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’t possibly understand what it was like to be young. But now, almost forty years later, I don’t think of her as old at all. 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. My mom is my best friend and a constant source of inspiration and encouragement. Who else would chop a bunch of CSA vegetables to roast, see the beauty in nature’s artistry, and share it with me in a photo? (Snapped with her iPhone, no less.) Old? Not! Curious, joyful, perceptive? More so than ever before.
Finally, we must consider Gloria. Gloria Steinem celebrated her 80th birthday a couple of weeks ago by presiding at a fundraiser in Philadelphia. And then, the next day, she flew off to Botswana. According to a recent article in the New York Times, she asked herself, “What do I really want to do on my birthday? First, get out of Dodge. Second, ride elephants.”
See what I mean? These women, so much older than us, aren’t exactly old, are they?
So where does all this leave the two of us? Well, I keep doing the math and finding it somewhat reassuring. If our luck holds and if we take good care of ourselves, we might get to follow in their sprightly footsteps. Blessed with a couple more decades, twenty or even thirty years more on the planet, what shall we do? How will we keep life meaningful?
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’m pretty grateful to be exactly where I am. At fifty-five, and aware as never before of life’s preciousness, its fleetingness, its randomness, I finally do know what matters, or at least what matters to me. Keeping a sense of wonder, for sure. And this: loving well and being loved in return.
So maybe it’s not surprising that something one of Gloria’s friends told the Times reporter really hit home with me, too. Robin Morgan, a fellow feminist from the early days, says one change she’s noticed with age is a deeper appreciation for the special, intimate relationships that sustain us.
“I’ve noticed that we, all of us, sort of cling to each other more,” she said. “We say ‘I love you’ at the end of conversations. We call to say ‘It’s very cold out – did you wear an extra scarf?’ There’s a lot of tenderness.”
Tenderness. I love this word and all it represents.
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 I’m not always quite sure just what. Most days, I figure out my next step by standing still, looking around, and asking the same question Pat does: “How can I be useful here?”
Well, maybe my answer comes down to this one rather old-fashioned word. Tenderness.
Tenderness toward my own imperfect, vulnerable, aging self. Tenderness toward my young adult sons as they flail and fall and find their way into lives of their own. Tenderness toward my husband, ten years older than me, as he looks ahead and does his math and tries to form a vision for our next chapter together. Tenderness toward my dear friends and loved ones – for aren’t we all absorbing losses and meeting challenges in our lives, even as we discover some unexpected new freedoms? Tenderness for all beings, including those who struggle simply to stay alive and those who struggle to lead us forward. Tenderness for the earth itself, resilient and vulnerable and in need of our care.
My guess is there’s nothing and no one in this vast, needy world that couldn’t benefit from a bit of unconditional tenderness.
So I’m thinking — maybe the best way to stave off the encroaching sense of ourselves as “old,” and all the diminishment the word implies, is simply to take a cue from some mentors in the art of growing older. There’s an organic affinity, as William James astutely observed, between joy and tenderness. It sounds right to me; joy and a youthful spirit are the side-effects of loving –– perhaps not quite so passionately as we once did, but more wholeheartedly and tenderly than ever.
Back to my idea of coming up with a label for this nameless liminal space between mid-life and old age. How about the Tender Years?
Love, Old
P.S. It’s still chilly out there. Are you wearing your jacket? And did you hear that concert the birds put on just before sunrise?
(P.S. To our readers: Margaret is over here, with her latest letter to me. And if you missed our first letters, they are here.)
Tenderness. I love it. And I love the vibrant, savvy women you describe here, who continue to grow and learn and thrive. They’re what I want to be when I grow up.
Me too! I realize I’ve always looked for role models who are farther along on the path I aspire to walk myself.
Lovely letter yet again! I am 63 and do not use the word “old” to describe myself. I love “Tender Years” as the perfect descriptor for this time in my life. With so many life responsibilities gone now, it is time to reflect, be gentle, and clearly figure out what I want to do with my remaining chapters. How I can do the most good for myself and society? Absolutely love you and Margaret and consider you both role models. Thank you for sharing your heart with us so often. Love Katherine
Thank you Katherine. The idea of the “tender years” is working for me, too. There are so many ways to do good in the world — and most of them seem to be about love and tenderness in one form or another.
WONDERFUL!!! Thank you I’ve tucked these away to re read. I’ve a big birthday this year turning 50 so i suppose that makes me old(er) Love Leanne
I like “older” rather than “old,” too. It’s a continuum, after all, and hopefully a very long one! Enjoy 50!
Very inspirational article on aging gracefully. Unfortunately, most 80 plus seniors have health issues & lots of aches & pains. My mother and mother in law are both in there late 80’a and yoga would not be a possibility. It’s great to paint a positive picture, but not realistic.
I’m inspired by these women and also well aware just how fragile good health is — at any age, but particularly after eighty. What’s realistic for one person isn’t for another. Thanks for the reminder!
The part about all of the time you spent searching for yourself and what you should do- that rings true for me right now. Heading into the downward side of my thirties, I’m finally finding that being comfortable in my own skin is less about finding what has been misplaced or set out somewhere for me to find and more about tenderly remembering and listening to that quiet voice, the soft tug at my cuffs that has known all along that I’m already everything I should be and need to be. Instead of looking outwardly for definition, suddenly, I’m quite content to find it was there all along.
I love what you say Heidi. Yes to listening to that quiet voice, and to realizing that we are already enough, that things have already worked out, that we are who we’re meant to be. Such a homecoming, right? Thank you!
I wasn’t sure what I wanted to be when I grew up, but I want to be Helen! I am 51 and am a newcomer to Bikram hot yoga over the past few years. I have been searching for what I want to be during this next chapter, and a yoga teacher is on the list! The tender years is a lovely term. Unfortunately my 20+ years old offspring are making these the tough years.
Perhaps if I can muster the strength to be more tender during these struggles things will soften. I love these letters! Thank you for sharing!
Thanks Kathy. Maybe tenderness and toughness sometimes have to go hand in hand. If you’re dreaming of doing a yoga teacher training, I encourage you to go for it. Change happens whether we want it to or not, so why not choose change when we can. I never expected to become a yoga teacher, and certainly didn’t think I could do it in my fifties, but here I am. . .teaching yoga (and loving it).
As I read your article I thought of my mother who passed away just weeks away from her 81st birthday. She was my best friend and a very wise woman. She always said
“You’re only as old as you feel.” I remember her trying to play hopscotch with the grandchildren at age 75, although a bit wobbley. I try not to focus on the things that
I can do, not on the things I can’t. Yesterday, I entertained my best friend and her
96yr. old father who had never been to a Passover Seder. Oh well, there’s a first time for everything. Tender years, absolutely…Thanks again.
Lovely post, as always. I love being privy to your thoughts, since most of my close friends are younger and haven’t quite caught up with some of my recent losses – parents, children leaving home. “How will we keep life meaningful?” is a constant in my days. I’m fortunate to be listening to you two chat about life looking forward with courage, spirit, and fun!
Lovely! I will be sending this to some of the ‘olds’ in my life and will re-read to myself, a ‘young’ on the days that I feel a little less than…. Thank you!
I loved reading this post as so much of it hits home. I am 62 and just started a new business (NERIUM) with my daughter, my best friend. We are doing this new adventure together, and having a great time. My own mother is 95, and her memory is beyond belief. My goal is to be like my mom, and I hope my daughter sees her goal in me. We are amazing women!
Thanks for sharing these letters to/from Margaret. I’m really enjoying this thoughtful exchange and I’m totally on-board with “the tender years” as descriptive of my feelings about being 66, who I am and where I’m at in my own evolution. LOVE IT!
How fitting to read this at this time in my shaken life. My mom — my very best friend — died last week and now, after spending years and especially the last few months with her, I foresee having time on my hands. I’m 65, still working, but am searching for more — more to do as my life slows down, more to keep me busy and fulfilled, more yoga :), more everything. I want to live the last 25 in grace and give something back. I’ll re-read this post as I continue searching. Thank you, Katrina. Your posts always fill up my heart.
How lovely to see a picture of you mom! I am one of her buddies in her exercise group, and we have missed her when she was in Florida. Can’t wait to see her again, and talk, tell outrageous stories, and roll around on the floor, breathless with laughter. We most certainly are not a group of old women—we are a bunch of funny, caring, supportive and talkative broads, and when we have a minute left in class, we are also trying to stay fit!
So glad my mom has such a wonderful circle of friends to share the journey with. Thank you for writing!
The Tender Years, yes, that is perfect. I love that term and I love all that it calls me to be right now. I’m enjoying your correspondence with Margaret so much. Thank you for sharing!
Thank you Betsy. I wasn’t sure at first, but each day offers so many opportunities to soften, and every time I do, things feel simpler. So, I’m starting to think there’s a kind of inner strength in tenderness.
So lovely to come along and read your words again Katrina, I think of you often since we last met. The women you describe here jump right off the page for me, they hold a special energy and confidence that is so inspiring. I love how you described your mother as joyful, curious and perceptive, a quality I see and admire in so many women who are journeying through this fabulous time in their lives. My mother-in-law is 83, travelled to Myanmar with us last year, her second trip to Myanmar in two years. I am not sure who had more fun, she was like a school girl on her first trip and she has travelled more miles than I ever will in my lifetime. She talks about possibly “retiring” her passport at 85..we will be surprised if she does. She eats well, stays mentally and physically active and lives a positive life. Her attitude keeps her going and I know it is hard when she sees so many friends go before her. I watch her carefully, thinking about my own destiny. At 56, I feel I have many more roads to travel and explore…even if it is from my backyard at Tahilla or under our mango tree in Saigon. The lovely thing about imagination, it can take you anywhere. It is coming up to a year when I read Magical Journey on the flight from Saigon to Boston…I will be doing the trip again in two weeks, your book is loaded on my Kindle..I look forward to reading it again. I feel like I have come home when I do. Thank you again for your inspiring words Katrina..I hope to see you around PB, I will be there through mid-sept. Catch you at Twelve Pines? Sending you warm wishes from Saigon… Jeanne xx
Jeanne, I love picturing you in Saigon while reading about life in New England. (Your daffodils over here are going to be blooming soon!) Looking forward to welcoming you home to “our town” soon!
How about calling ourselves “Cronies?” At 66 and leaving home and family temporarily to fulfil a dream and complete my PhD abroad, I was studying ‘maiden, mother, crone’ Celtic history recently. A crone is a woman who is reaching her inner wisdom and knowledge. A crony is also an friend, companion, confidante, associate. I see people my age who have become old. I just tried Zumba. Of course, it was a bit modified as I just had surgery 5 months ago but the issue is not what’s wrong but what is still right, where your mind wants to take you, and are you still willing to dream.
How wonderful! Maybe by fulfilling our own dreams we also inspire others to step towards theirs? “Cronies” sounds so much friendlier than “crones.”
Katrina,
I’m in the midst of Magical Journey and enjoying every word. And seeing a picture of your mom in this letter…what a gift that our lives have intersected again nearly 40 years years without any connections! And 40 years ago, the differences in our ages seemed like a generation. Now as I read your words I realize we are now peers! My kids are grown and married, I’ve changed my career, am divorced and on a road I never imagined…but the journey continues to be one of joy and discovery. Thank you for your book, your blog and the blessings they bring.
Yes, Connie, I love the way words have reconnected us after all these years — and how the passing years have the effect in some ways of erasing differences. My peer group keeps getting bigger! Thanks so much for writing.
I look at myself today (at 51) and think of how much I’ve grown and changed since I was 21 and then I think, “Will I grow and change as much in the NEXT 30 years as I did in the LAST 30 years?” If so – WOW. And what stupid things am I doing now that I will look back on and laugh at? Plenty, I’m sure..:-). Love the letters, Katrina, you have such a way with words…
Thanks Karen. Margaret and I have really enjoyed writing these letters, too. Such a reminder that everything is better shared — especially growing older. I know what you mean about the amount of life lived and lessons learned between the 20s and the 50s. Wonder if there’s THAT much of a learning curve still ahead. . .Guess we’re about to find out.
Hi Katrina,
As I type, I glance over at my 91 year old mom. She now sits with her favorite blanket tucked under her chin. Fifteen minutes ago she was outside raking the leftover leaves from her flower bed; looking for the hope of Spring. She still refuses to take part in our Senior Center’s activities: “That’s where old people go, you know.”
Therefore, at 65, “Older” does not fit me, but oh how I love the “Tender Years”.
I, too, thank you for ” Magical Journey”: Your words are food for thought and inspiration. Blessings. Comfort. Joy.
Glad The Tender Years resonates with you, too Tura. It’s definitely growing on me. Here’s to your mom and her spring blossoms. And to the two of you savoring this time together. Thank you for writing and this picture of the two of you.
Katrina, I have all 3 of your books. I am a book nut and it’s not getting any better at 77. I have a whole library of self help and inspirational ones. I’ve always been fascinated by “old” people even though I’m now one of them.
I live alone now, having been widowed when I turned 65. I am very fortunate to have a big family. I love reading uplifting, motivational books. That’s how I spend most of my days along with gardening.
I can’t wait for your next book..Tuesday is my favorite day of the week (new books are at the bookstore then). love reading how you all spend your days.
Thank you Sally. I imagine your library and mine look somewhat similar. I know what you mean about being fascinated by old people — I am, too, and have always felt there’s much to learn from those who’ve walked the path before me. When I’m 77, I want to be reading and gardening!
What a joy it is to see my mother-in-law Helen (the lovely lady with the giant celery) on this terrific blog! …(she told me about it and so here I am)… Indeed, she is a wonderful inspiration for holistic-healthy and happy living in body, mind and spirit! I’m pleased to report that the apple does not fall too far from the tree. Her son, my partner and husband of 25 years, was the first person who genuinely opened my eyes and my mind to comprehending and adopting the healthy lifestyle. In fact, I have shared with Helen a time or two that she did a great job in raising that one! Thank you for sharing Helen on your blog Katrina! Peace, Love, Joy~
Karen, I’m delighted you stopped by! You are so blessed to have Helen as your mother-in-law. Meeting her was one of the highlights of visiting Ojai for me, so it was a pleasure to reconnect after I got home and share a bit of her inspiring presence on my blog. Thank you for reading and writing.
Dear Katrina, what a beautiful tribute to Helen & the other special women! You met Helen at my shop in Ojai. She is my idol & role model for my coming years. She has it all, style, charm, humour & wisdom. She told me she liked being 50, and just decided to stay there in her mind. I may be 51 chronologically, but I’m joining her in the 50 forever plan. When I told a few people I had a great lady working at my shop & she was 81, a few people raised their eyebrows. I just smiled and said just wait till you meet her……
Hi Jenny, You are exactly right — Helen has it all. Hiring her was the best thing you could have done, as her very presence is an inspiration. I’ll join you in the fifty-forever plan! Thanks so much for reading and commenting. I love your shop and can’t wait to return next year.
Tenderness is the most wonderful word. What a wonderful post — and one with which I agree. I’ve fought health issues and all the usual things that hit you when you are 60-plus. And right now I’m better than I’ve been in a long time. Who knows — things can turn on a dime and you never know what will happen tomorrow or the next day. But I can’t worry about that. I had lunch with my dad’s 91 year old cousin last Friday. She’s slowing down — but she’s pretty darned active all things considered. I thought “That’s something to aspire to — age but with activity and joy.”
I love how you (and Margaret) weave together such wonderful thoughts so eloquently. Thank you!
I think you nailed it Jeanie — we just don’t know what’s around the next corner, but we do know that any time spent worrying about it is time missed in the here and now. Thanks for saying that so beautifully. I, too, aspire to age with activity and joy!
Love these letters Katrina, this voice and tone bring me right back to Mitten Strings for God and the Gift of an Ordinary Day, thank you for sharing these.