Tag Archives: midlife

Getting Old Is a Privilege

Bill, Lynne and Mom (Marie)

The doctor felt sorry for the elderly woman. She had recently been widowed after seventy-three years of marriage, and now she would live out her days in this rest home. “I’m so sorry,” the doctor said. “What has it been like for you losing your husband after so many years together?” She paused for a moment and then replied, “Heaven.”

I just started reading How We Age by Dr. Marc Agronin, and that’s an excerpt. In our culture, the prevailing viewpoint is that everything about getting old is bad, it’s horrible, it’s hell. Okay, I get the mortality thing. I don’t want to die, and the older I get, the likelier it seems! But does that mean that the older I get, the sadder and more resigned I have to feel? That’s the message our culture shovels at us.

Unless you look for counterintelligence: according to this article in Psychology Today, people in their 70s are as happy as those in their 20s! Bill and I were discussing age and illness the other night, and here’s something we both found comfort in: if we were to die suddenly, at least we reached the crucial milestones of having raised our kids to the point where they can take care of themselves. We’ve enjoyed fulfilling careers and traveled, seen two grandchildren born, and eased the old age of our parents. I’ll bet that plays into the satisfaction our group feels. They’ve won the race; now they can stop running, unless they damn well feel like running. In which case, lace up and rock out.

Ella's first visit to Grandma Lynne's house October 2010

One of the difficulties we face as we age is letting go of our career identities. For thirty years I was a corporate suit. I crafted and polished this identity. I spoke and dressed and thought a certain way. It took me years to let go – actually, I still have my blazers and dress pants. They fit well and look nice and I might have to dress up someday, right? It’s the last vestige of my ID, hanging in the guest-room closet. But now that I’m not Ms. Corporate, I can cuss and wear hippie clothes and not do my nails. Take that, bureaucracy world!

In our society we “fight” aging. As if that’s going to stop time. Well, it won’t, and I’ve decided to enjoy it and to seek out people who can help me understand how to do that. In More magazine this month, Dr. Vivian Diller talks about letting go of wanting to look young in favor of wanting to look good for your age.  She says the benefits of “consciously letting go of youth” are:

You will feel differently. You will feel more hopeful. You will create a solid foundation from which to grow for the rest of your life. Yes, there is loss. But you also gain something on the other side of it. There’s a comfort level, a renewed energy for other things.

I can’t link to the article due to copyright considerations but it’s at your grocery store now. I felt invigorated after I read it, and I wish that for you.

(Apologies and best wishes to those seniors who lost their retirement dreams in the Great Recession. I hope and pray that things get better for you very soon.)

Were You Raised to Be a Doormat?

Yesterday a difficult acquaintance caught me at the grocery store and cried on my shoulder about a big problem she was having. I was surprised because her problem was really personal and we don’t know each other well, but she was distressed so I listened and made sympathetic noises. When I saw a decent opening, I bolted.

Later, I told Mom that I hadn’t wanted to hear about the woman’s problems because it made me feel obligated, but more than that, I wondered why she’d dumped that load on me.

“She probably feels comfortable with you,” said Mom. “Maybe she doesn’t have anybody else. It’s a compliment.”

A light went off in my brain as I recognized the sound of old, familiar propaganda.

Like many of you, I was taught to sacrifice my own interests in service to others. If a person who everybody else avoids reaches out to us, we feel honored to be singled out. Because we’re special – stronger, more patient, more broad-minded than those wimpy others who would simply give up.

I was taught to think, “I must really have something, that this person needs me.” What I didn’t see was that normal people avoided the abusers. Normal people valued themselves enough to protect their time and energy, whereas I labored to help the crackpots change and do better. When I first got hired in human resources, I was practically codependent.

I had the look of a victim. 

I understand that my parents thought they were teaching me compassion, but they went too far toward love and not enough in the direction of self-defense. It would have been good if they’d taught me to squint, Clint Eastwood-style, when I encountered potential users.

I once read a book called The Sociopath Next Door (yep, that’s what floats my boat) by Martha Stout. Toward the end she said, now that you know everything about a sociopath, you’ll want me to tell you how to protect yourself. How to see them coming. And the answer is, you can’t, not really, because they look for people who are nice, because those people are more easily manipulated.

Well, isn’t that great.

Even if you never meet a sociopath, you still have to have some filters, because even good people can tend to take, take, and take some more. Here’s an article by Dr. Judith Orloff about maintaining balance in a vampire relationship.

Now that I’m older I consciously resist looking like an easy mark or sending out signals that say, “Use me! Use me!” After many years in HR, two failed marriages, and countless one-sided relationships, I have developed a strategy. I offer it to you.

At first you take a little chance on a person, without making an irrevocable commitment. Then you look for reciprocity – does the person give you something ethical in return? Time, effort, repayment, career help, etc.?

Or instead of looking for reciprocity, observe and track the person’s behaviors. Discount any talk of big dreams or undeserved heartache; watch the patterns. If you see a track record of selfish behavior, lack of follow-through, or narcissism, arm yourself. The best predictor of future behavior is past behavior. Act accordingly.

I understand that there’s a risk in taking this hard-line approach. You can’t shut down or become a recluse. Compassion is good! We need more of it. Also, this rule gets a little wobbly when you’re dealing with children or young people because they’re not fully formed. I cut them more slack than mature adults.

Here’s a weird outcome of my new thinking: I don’t feel quite so special. I’m average, not heroic. I no longer have bragging rights. (More about that in a previous post, The Courage to Be Average.)

Although it’s good to be heroic, I’d reserve that for pulling kitties out of trees. In the meantime, I implore you to teach your kids or grandkids the squinty-eye. It just might save them from being drained and manipulated by the weirdos, narcissists and slackers who depend on a friendly face and big heart for all their energy needs.

What If We Didn’t Consider Aging a Problem?

Rossellini younger

The world is a magical place limited to some extent by our low expectations.   Today while I was meditating these ideas bubbled up:

  • If it’s true that forming a new habit takes 21 days of repetition, shouldn’t we be able to form a new habit every 21 days? So if you picked three new things you want to groove into your brain (say, meditation, Kegels and exercise), and did them for a month, wouldn’t you have three new habits? Over a year you could develop 36 new habits/behaviors. Is that really possible? What a better person I could be in a year if that were true.
  • What if you looked in the mirror on a regular basis and thought, “You’re smart! You’re pretty! Dang, you’re awesome.” Oh, put away the modesty. You love yourself, right? Why not unabashedly tell yourself that? Oprah does, or at least I assume she does. I wrote about it here. I think it would feel wonderful if we could stop with the negativity and start celebrating ourselves. My shrink used to say, “change the behavior and the feelings will follow.” Isn’t that a lovely thought? What if we could change our feelings simply by acting like we believe it?

Rossellini older

Okay, now that I’ve laid the groundwork, now that you are floating on a bubble of what might be, I would like to share with you a fabulous anecdote. A reporter asked Isabella Rossellini what she does to try to look younger. She fixed him with that half-mocking, studious look of hers and said, “I do nothing. I don’t think aging is a problem.”

Can you imagine feeling this way? Let me create a mental image for you: we look in the mirror and see that our necks are veiny, our eyes are surrounded by a starburst of lines and our hair is thinning. We shrug, because we know that looks go away.

We accept with a peaceful heart and good humor that older women look different from younger women. We marvel at their strength and ability to bend down and reach into the lower shelves, and we hand them things to carry and put away because they can. We laugh, knowing we’re taking advantage. They laugh, knowing it’ll be their turn one day. It’s all good. It’s just the way of the planet.

What would that feel like? What if we acted as if we believed it for twenty one days? Change the behavior and the feelings will follow.

Happy Thanksgiving to all my AST friends. I am grateful for the companionship we share.

The Opposite of a Bucket List

You know what a Bucket List is: that list of the things you feel you absolutely must do before you die.

By definition, that would have to be one heavy list. First of all, it ends with your death, and second, there’s probably stuff on it like sky diving (Nanci can cross that off hers) and start a literacy program and reconcile with that icky family member you’ve been avoiding for the past fifty years.

Well, I’m tired of the pressure. Life is hard enough without having a giant existential To Do list, so I’ve decided to rebel.

I’ve decided to start a “F*** It” List.

On this list, I will itemize all the things I’m going to not do, ever. So far this is what is on it:

  • play piano
  • speak Spanish
  • look young
  • read the classics
  • have beautiful nails
  • care about how I look naked from the back

I’m having so much fun with this list. Every time I add something, my shoulders relax, like I just had a good massage, or therapy.

This list is becoming increasingly useful for another reason. I was cleaning out my inbox the other day, and there was a stack of recipes I’m planning to try. Except I found myself thinking F*** It. And I threw them in the trash.

It felt so good that I figured I’m on to something.

Here are two things people (starting with my Mom) have always said about me:

You work too hard.

You worry too much.

Not anymore, girlfriends! Because I have discovered the F*** It List.

Ahhhhhh.

Go ahead, try it. But first, tell us, what would you put on your very own F*** It List?

Kindle readers can contact me at Lmspreen@gmail.com.

Boomer Women – Our Best and Worst of Times

I’m reading “Inventing the Rest of our Lives” by Suzanne Braun Levine, and this part resonated with me:

“We know what ‘middle age’ used to be about: cutting back, scaling down, giving up. And we know that isn’t for us. At the same time, we sense that doors are closing, that a chapter is over. We are no longer fertile; we are no longer the trend-setting generation; and we are now less likely to make a major mark. So we are torn between those ‘facts of life’ and what we fear are ‘unrealistic expectations.’ Can I really learn a new language? Can I really start my own business? Can I fall in love? Get a divorce? Close up the house? Do I have what it takes to make changes in my life?

“We are restless and curious and ready to get to work. The doubts and the ‘zest’ create crosscurrents that can cancel each other out and leave us stymied by a sense of aimlessness.”

I can’t tell you how much that speaks to me. Here I am, on the verge of marketing my debut novel to agents, at a time when the publishing industry is being nuked and our society still very much values youth over maturity (and I have more to say now than ever!) – and yet, there are times when I think I am foolish for racing around with my hair on fire in pursuit of this passion, because I am 56 and my sweet husband is 63, and we are in our prime of midlife, and I should spend every vibrant moment I can enjoying his company…the actuarials are not kind. I expect I’ll have fifteen years of widowhood; time enough, solitude enough for writing. So I race, and then I stop, and wonder, and I go back and hold him and ask him to reassure me that I’m not leaving him behind, and then I hurry back to my office.