Very few of us have had the privilege of being taught how to grow old. For most of us, this is a process of discovery. I began my 80th year a few months ago and I’m trying to figure out how to play the game of life in this last phase. How did I get
from this:
to this:
I wake up each morning in my cozy bed and stretch. What hurts today? Will I be hot, cold, or comfortable if I move the covers? Will I wet the bed if I don’t immediately rush to the bathroom? What do I absolutely have to get done today? Does it matter what I wear? Do I have to get dressed at all? What would I enjoy doing today? What is the purpose of my life in this “end-game” stage?
Others are raising their grandchildren, running countries, or meeting adoring crowds at 80. Although I am apparently healthy, I don’t have that much energy. I dread taking on new obligations and the isolation of the pandemic has gotten me used to staying at home. My income is stable, my daily needs are met. My children and grandchildren are doing well. In spite of all this good fortune I feel immersed in a pool of sadness. How do I make this an era of joy and satisfaction?
Perhaps the problem I am facing now began in my early teen years. That’s me in the middle of a class picture – maybe 6th grade. I felt like the ugly, brainy outsider and retreated into intellectual oddity.
I’ve learned to cover up the alienation from myself and others, to say the culturally appropriate thing and deflect attention away from myself and onto others. I’ve devoted my life to modernizing education and other “high impact” social causes. I’ve accomplished enough, given enough, to feel I’ve paid any debt owed to my society.
When I tell people I’ve been fighting depression all my life they respond, “Oh no, not you, Liza. You’re always smiling and right on top of things.” That’s what it looks like from the outside because I have made sure nobody sees me when I’m vulnerable and can’t cope.
80 is different. I’m no longer climbing a career ladder or building institutions. I’m cleaning up the messes in preparation for passing on all those responsibilities. But it’s the met responsibilities, the fulfilled obligations, the kept promises that have gotten me out of bed in the past. That pressure has been a dike that kept the depression within its banks and the alienation at bay. Now my psychological armor is peeling away and I’m having to face my inner demons without the excuse that focusing on myself is somehow “selfish”.
It’s time to reconnect with the curious, exploratory, hopeful character I was as an infant, a toddler, a child before “self” became “selfish”. And you’ll just have to wait and see whether I ever feel like writing Episode 2!
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Pepper would lie like this at the foot of Mother’s bed.
