A few years ago, I took on a serious physical challenge: I agreed to babysit my infant granddaughter when her parents went back to work. [Read more…]
Are We Old or Just Out of Shape?
Dare to Dream after Middle-Age
Iris Anderson
After watching yet another romantic comedy about twenty-somethings falling in love, starting families and landing dream jobs, I have to wonder: what about older people? Do they have dreams? Judging from Hollywood, the answer is no.
So I asked my Facebook friends: What do people who are middle-aged and older dream of accomplishing? and I got back the greatest answer from my buddy Iris Anderson of Palm Desert, who has carved out a wonderful life for herself:
My three daughters are just past menopause and asking the same questions. They gave me a lot of drama when I was in midlife. How about them visiting the Playboy mansion dozens of times, sitting with Hugh Hefner on the stairs, watching the parade go by; or one serving as a nurse in Africa during a revolution; or in Colombia where the coffee plantation was taken by rebels and family members kidnapped? I did not think I would survive my daughters’ adventures, but I began to find the things that I love to do, and the rest took care of itself.
Now I can do all the things I wanted to, like art and science classes, learn a new language, travel, change careers, or go back to college for new training. Never too late. Women in 50s can get their LVN license, learn computers, learn finance, or just plain restart. I especially liked travel – my first opportunity in life. I have visited 81 countries on the cheap. Universities have special help for older women.
As for men, I stayed with mine, but I see women in their 80s finding guy friends, though money and inheritances often get in the way, so they just visit or live together. I am 80 and going to Utah State University Summer Citizens program for classes in Spanish, world econ, genealogy, Westward Migration, How Tea Affected Politics, Geology, Cloning. I would like to be cloned…
Iris, I wish they COULD clone you. You’re such an inspiration. Readers, if you’re middle-aged or older, what are you looking forward to? What dreams motivate you? What horizons draw you onward?
Divorce After 50
Late note: after I published this post we all found out about Arnold’s other child, so now I have to change my advice: RUN, MARIA, RUN!
Everybody’s talking about Arnold and Maria splitting. He’s 64 and she’s 56. With their fame and fortune, they’ll have their pick of future partners. Or maybe the motivation isn’t to find someone with whom they’ll be happier. Maybe the goal is independence. Said goal is probably hers, not his.
Here’s what I’ve read: woman 50+ are far more likely to initiate a divorce from their husbands than any other age group. And according to AARP, the top reasons they cite are “freedom, identity and a need for fulfillment.”
Carol Orsborn at Vibrant Nation wrote that divorce among Boomers is up because women want to pursue their own interests:
It isn’t so surprising, really, when you put this into the perspective of how vital we feel at our age…It is highly probable that our mothers (who were) formed in pre-liberation times, felt they had neither the time nor choice to upset the applecart and start fresh. But our generation of women, many of whom worked most of our lives, contributed to or dominated the family income and feel entitled to reinvent ourselves any way we please.
That last sentence wouldn’t sound so good if you were talking about the husband, but never mind.
I’m about Maria’s age, and I don’t think I’d want to start over with someone who is carrying around a half century’s worth of baggage.
My husband says if I died he’d get a dog. We laugh because I know that what he really means is that, at our age, it would be too exhausting to (a) date (b) risk the ups and downs of romance and (c) build a life with someone new. Partly it’s because I’ve worn him down. I know I have a lot of good qualities but I’m weird and it takes a lot out of him.
Could it be any easier for Arnold and Maria to contemplate divorce, especially with four kids? And all their ties, familial and professional?
I say just stick together.
This is my third marriage. Bill’s, too. In California, they have a “three strikes” law, so we’re serving a life sentence. The other day we got to arguing a little heatedly, and I told him it was way past time (after 16 yrs together) for him to be questioning the future of our union. “There’s almost nothing you can do that would make me want a divorce,” I said. “Stop worrying. I want to be together until we die. Okay?”
It’s a gift of old age. A bittersweet kind of security, knowing you’re the last mate, and one of you is going to die in the other’s arms, while one of you carries on. I’m sorry that, whatever Arnold and Maria are going through that it apparently is serious enough that they may have to start over after all the time they’ve shared together, and at this late point in their lives.
Kindle readers can email me with comments at Lmspreen@yahoo.com.
Boomers Gone Wild
I feel guilty sometimes that I’m retired and don’t have to work so hard. I see my kids doing what I used to do and somehow, it seems harder. I remember working six days a week back then, but I still feel for them, probably because at 57 I don’t have the same energy level. And I’ve lived through drama and fought upon battlefields that, while new and exciting to them, would kill me to have to revisit. So I laughed at this Mother’s Day article, “62 Going on 22” by Jessica Grose. Jessica is just entering the young adult world, working her tail off and looking forward, when she has a spare molecule of energy, to marrying and starting a family. Her parents, on the other hand, are beginning to enjoy the carefree adulthood they never had. I know the feeling exactly and enjoyed reading the article. You may as well. Happy Mother’s Day!
Change is Hard But Rewarding
May you have an interesting life.
It’s said to be an ancient Chinese curse. Implicit in those gentle words is the premise that an interesting life can be hard, full of drama and challenge and change. The wisher is conveying his desire to see the beneficiary’s feet knocked out from under her.
Change is hard, but it’s interesting to see how we travel through it. In my own case, several months ago I promised to watch my infant granddaughter when her mother went back to work. The gratitude in the eyes of both parents was more than enough to offset the panic I felt as the first day approached. Would I do a good job? Would she suffer? Would my body suffer? My work? My marriage?
So I started babysitting. Far from my marriage suffering, it developed a new richness, because my husband wanted to be in on this babysitting thing, and he helped me almost every day and grew as attached to our little granddaughter as I did. He developed confidence, able to discuss babies with parents and grandparents alike. In the evening we’d verbally elbow each other aside, celebrating our grandparental influence on the little one.
Things went really well, beautifully in fact. I got to see my kids every morning before they left for work. I took the baby for walks in her stroller, and got down on the floor with her. She taught me the meaning of her different cries, body language and facial expressions. I began to sit in the rocker in her room as she fell asleep, learning to slow down and appreciate the quiet, meditative moments. To think that I’ve come so far in my life as to be sitting in my son’s house, listening to his little girl sleep – that I could be this old – that time could be moving on at such a clip.
A few days ago, I came down with a bad cold and the baby had no sitter because my backups weren’t available, so her parents took her to a childcare provider who has long watched the children of their coworkers. And my little gal did fine, except she cried a little.
I wonder what she thought as the day passed? Was she happy or scared? There were three other small children there, and word is that she cottoned to a little boy, not yet two. It’s good for her to start socializing with other kids. In fact, it went so well that my son is going to ask the provider to reserve a spot for her next fall.
It’s good for me, too. I’ve already told my son and DIL that my body can’t handle watching her fulltime as she becomes more mobile, so this was a blessing in disguise. But I’m wrecked over this.
I can’t wait to see her again, next Tuesday, when I begin the last month of babysitting before her parents, both teachers, begin summer recess. It amazes me that she is moving into the next stage, and I wonder if our relationship will change, but would be a small change in what has turned out to be a tumultuous three years for my family.
Ultimately, it’s just life and we’ll adjust, as we did through Dad’s death, and Mom’s breaking her leg, and my sibling blowing up the family. I’m impressed at how resilient and adaptable we all are, and the little gal is made of us. In spite of my sadness over not babysitting next fall, I know she’ll be fine.
I’ve come full circle again, from fear of watching her to fear of not watching her to joy at the prospect of spending more time with my sweetie, golfing and traveling, reading and writing.
Here is where I might say: “I wouldn’t have it any other way.” But I won’t say that.
I will say that it has been interesting.
Bad Advice for Boomers from Author Susan Jacoby
My greatest fear is sleepwalking through my life – finding out at the end of it that I’ve made some ridiculous miscalculation and wasted a great gift. So it seemed like a smart idea to read “Never Say Die: The Myth and Marketing of the New Old Age” by Susan Jacoby. Bill Moyers, who I respect, had vouched for her.
The premise of “Never…” is that we Boomers are in denial about the fact that we will get old and die. If we were more realistic, we’d enjoy our lives more, feel more empowered, and save a lot of money on snake oil. She says it’s cool to see portrayals of 90-year-olds mountain-biking and skydiving, but it’s not realistic, and if we accepted what is really going to happen to us, we might be better prepared.
I liked the idea. I want to be prepared and use every ounce of my life to the best of my ability, so I read the book. I finished the book. And I have never been so depressed.
If you ever thought you might age and die gracefully, expect Jacoby to bludgeon your expectations with fact, figures, historical stats and anecdotes. She even clucks away the idea of old people becoming “wise” in exchange for our old age, asking why we would suddenly become wise if we’ve been average to stupid all our lives?
I kept reading, thinking that Jacoby would eventually get to the part where she distills all her negative findings into some kind of wisdom, some guide for gleaning the most from our lives in spite of all the reasons not to. The most she can muster is this concession to her nonfiction-writing friends, who urged her to end the book on an up-note:
“And that just about sums up my ‘positive advice’: live in a place that forces you to stay on your feet, and look for work wherever and whenever you can find it.”
At the end of this book I felt like stockpiling Vicodin. Possibly motivated by the tragic loss of her longtime companion to Alzheimers’, Jacoby set out to prove to the rest of us that we have little reason to hope, and she did a good job of making her case.
However, I think the beauty of humanity is that, faced with the knowledge of insurmountable odds, we still fling ourselves heroically against the dark unknown, choosing to believe that somehow, in some small way, we might triumph. Even if, as in this case, we know we will lose the final battle, we nevertheless choose to find meaning in the prosecution of this very personal war.
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