I Like Growing Old
Today was one of those mornings where it seemed impossible to get out of bed -- my body was heavy as a rock and though I thought I was awake, when I tried to move, realized I was still asleep, my limbs still and uncooperative. Anyway, somewhere around 11 I finally managed to fight that heavy veil of sleep and join the sunlit day. To ease my waking, I was listened to the radio and there was a program featuring a woman named Eileen Allen who has written a book called I Like Being Old.
It was a delightful conversation all around, because who wouldn't love a woman who boldly, proudly and happily embraces the thing we are all taught to fear: the wrinkling of our faces, the degeneration of our bodies; the fogging of our minds and the waning of our independence. Our memories wear dull and thin until they begin to wisp away. It is exactly these things that most of us so fear, so detest the idea of, that it is not uncommon to hear talk of ending one's life when such things happen.
And I'm not just speaking casually here about cultural phenomena, but something closer to home as well. Both of my parents fear losing their independence, fear as much or more being a burden on us, that they have told me when this time comes, they plan to end their lives. Of course these are comments people throw around rather lightly in hypothetical conversations, but my parents have thought it through separately (they are divorced and not in contact) and brought up the topic on many occasions with me and my sister.
Of course a conversation about family members that would be upsetting to anyone. But here's where it gets personal for me: for much of my young life everything I'd love to do involved using my hands and arms. I was passionate about music, for a while determined that I would make aa life of it. I also loved painting, writing, gardening, crafting, and cooking. I clearly saying on numerous occasions that my life would be over if something ever happened to my arms.
And then they did. Gradually, it must be stated, which of course was a great blessing in allowing me time to adjust to my new condition. And I still do have some use of my hands and arms -- able to dress myself, prepare a meal with help -- but not to garden or right page upon page, nor to hold a brush against an easel for an extended period, and perhaps most importantly (combined with other symptoms) unable to work.
When it happened, it felt at first like my worst nightmare. The doctors thought at that time it would heal, but I had some foreboding sense that it would not. And it didn't. It was very difficult for some years. in essence I had to reinvent myself. No longer able to cultivate a sense of purpose and pride in myself through the work that I did, the things that I produced, the activities that I engaged in, the numerous friends that I had. Beneath all that glorious façade that most of us build our lives around, I was forced to look deeper, beyond the distractions of activities and accomplishments, and find purpose and love and acceptance of myself.
As my illness has progressed, I became more and more limited -- most recently to not being able to read more than a few pages without getting headaches. Each loss is painful at first,but then becomes a challenge to approach with the spirit of eager determination; a tremendous exercise in adaptation. How to find and create joy and peace and happiness in a changing body, a changing world? As my life becomes less and less like those around me, I've also had to become more inventive, more self-reliant in social and spiritual ways, and more aware and appreciative of my blessings.
So here it is: I no longer trust as I once did, the ability of ourselves in one moment in time, in one condition of body and mind and spirit, to request what will be best for our future selves.
Had you asked me 10 years ago, a few months shy of my 22nd birthday, if I would want to live under such conditions, it's most likely I would have said no. And yet, the woman that I am today says emphatically and vehemently Yes!
There is so much in life to love, to experience, to adore and discover and cherish, every day feels a blessing. And so it upsets me when I parents say they would like end their lives when they are no longer able to care for themselves, because it could happen that sometime in the future I could become less independent than I am now, requiring more and more systems to get through daily activities. So then, should I end my like when this happens? Is my value as a person negated if I cannot earn a living or fully care for myself?
This is the challenge, I want to tell them, of growing old -- many aspects of which began happening to me in my 20s and 30s -- the decline of the body and the resulting limitations, the unreliability of memory, the presence of pain is a part of daily life. Of course a few lucky people are running marathons and living pain-free and with sharp minds until the day they die. But for the rest of us, the challenge is to lovingly value ourselves through the different seasons and abilities of life. To discover that amazing adaptability most humans possess to exist and thrive in so many different situations. This is part of the human condition. I know that as a society we so deify independence, that we valorize people who end their lives rather than growing old, rather than "becoming a burden". It's like living amongst a cult of youth, which is correlated often with near-perfect help and able-bodyness. these stories are echoed in our culture -- in movies like "Million Dollar Baby" (which actually have not seen) that imply we're better of dead than disabled.
The only ways that we the elderly or disabled are celebrated is if they become heroes overcoming ridiculous odds, or accomplish tremendous feats that defy expectations of rest and repose in retirement. But what of this? What of those living quiet lives like Eileen Allen who refused a walker for years because she didn't want to be an old lady. And then one day after falling in the street and being unable to get up, bit the bullet and bought a walker , saying "why the hell didn't I do this sooner?" Eileen Allen who loves nothing more than writing, reading and walking and then, as she aged, had each taken away from her. She overcame her pride and got a walker allowing her some movement again. Then she began going blind, a devastation for somebody in love with reading and writing. so then suggested she try memorizing poetry. she'd never had much of a taste for it, but discovered a new world through words that she carried in her head. Eileen Allen who had the fantastic audacity to say, "I like being old"!
And I'm guessing, had you asked her in her youth she would find any happiness and joy were she blind and able to move only slowly, precariously with the aid of walker, she would probably instead envisioned depression and gloom. Which is exactly what I envisioned back when I said my life would be over if anything happened to my hands. Which is what I hear all the time around me -- on the radio the other day when the reporter interviewing a Dr. about Locked in Syndrome commented that most people would never want to live in such condition. And I'm sure most people would say so. I can't help remembering the story of a man who had been assumed brain-dead, and finally discovered to have Locked in Syndrome was now able to communicate, to use a computer with accessibility tools, who has commented as saying it was fantastic to finally be able to communicate with others. And although it was only a short radio piece, I heard nothing saying that he wanted to end his life.
Which brings me back to my point, that ourselves in the present are often poor judges of where we will find a life worth living in the future. So limited are we in our vision, so blinded by our own way of life is the only one worth living, so small are our imaginations that I do not trust us to make determinations regarding life and death about our future selves. And I celebrate women like sisters in spirit like Eileen Allen who tell their tales, who massage the scope and breadth of our imaginations by telling their stories of transformation. And, this is one of the reasons I like talking about my health issues -- I. hope that by sharing my experiences, and a sense of peace and joy I have now that I do not know if I would have had I kept on moving my busy life with a pain-free and fully functional body. But, sometimes I have noticed, it is difficult for people to hear. They think we are exceptions, but they could never be happy in our position... And so did I once upon a time.
It was a delightful conversation all around, because who wouldn't love a woman who boldly, proudly and happily embraces the thing we are all taught to fear: the wrinkling of our faces, the degeneration of our bodies; the fogging of our minds and the waning of our independence. Our memories wear dull and thin until they begin to wisp away. It is exactly these things that most of us so fear, so detest the idea of, that it is not uncommon to hear talk of ending one's life when such things happen.
And I'm not just speaking casually here about cultural phenomena, but something closer to home as well. Both of my parents fear losing their independence, fear as much or more being a burden on us, that they have told me when this time comes, they plan to end their lives. Of course these are comments people throw around rather lightly in hypothetical conversations, but my parents have thought it through separately (they are divorced and not in contact) and brought up the topic on many occasions with me and my sister.
Of course a conversation about family members that would be upsetting to anyone. But here's where it gets personal for me: for much of my young life everything I'd love to do involved using my hands and arms. I was passionate about music, for a while determined that I would make aa life of it. I also loved painting, writing, gardening, crafting, and cooking. I clearly saying on numerous occasions that my life would be over if something ever happened to my arms.
And then they did. Gradually, it must be stated, which of course was a great blessing in allowing me time to adjust to my new condition. And I still do have some use of my hands and arms -- able to dress myself, prepare a meal with help -- but not to garden or right page upon page, nor to hold a brush against an easel for an extended period, and perhaps most importantly (combined with other symptoms) unable to work.
When it happened, it felt at first like my worst nightmare. The doctors thought at that time it would heal, but I had some foreboding sense that it would not. And it didn't. It was very difficult for some years. in essence I had to reinvent myself. No longer able to cultivate a sense of purpose and pride in myself through the work that I did, the things that I produced, the activities that I engaged in, the numerous friends that I had. Beneath all that glorious façade that most of us build our lives around, I was forced to look deeper, beyond the distractions of activities and accomplishments, and find purpose and love and acceptance of myself.
As my illness has progressed, I became more and more limited -- most recently to not being able to read more than a few pages without getting headaches. Each loss is painful at first,but then becomes a challenge to approach with the spirit of eager determination; a tremendous exercise in adaptation. How to find and create joy and peace and happiness in a changing body, a changing world? As my life becomes less and less like those around me, I've also had to become more inventive, more self-reliant in social and spiritual ways, and more aware and appreciative of my blessings.
So here it is: I no longer trust as I once did, the ability of ourselves in one moment in time, in one condition of body and mind and spirit, to request what will be best for our future selves.
Had you asked me 10 years ago, a few months shy of my 22nd birthday, if I would want to live under such conditions, it's most likely I would have said no. And yet, the woman that I am today says emphatically and vehemently Yes!
There is so much in life to love, to experience, to adore and discover and cherish, every day feels a blessing. And so it upsets me when I parents say they would like end their lives when they are no longer able to care for themselves, because it could happen that sometime in the future I could become less independent than I am now, requiring more and more systems to get through daily activities. So then, should I end my like when this happens? Is my value as a person negated if I cannot earn a living or fully care for myself?
This is the challenge, I want to tell them, of growing old -- many aspects of which began happening to me in my 20s and 30s -- the decline of the body and the resulting limitations, the unreliability of memory, the presence of pain is a part of daily life. Of course a few lucky people are running marathons and living pain-free and with sharp minds until the day they die. But for the rest of us, the challenge is to lovingly value ourselves through the different seasons and abilities of life. To discover that amazing adaptability most humans possess to exist and thrive in so many different situations. This is part of the human condition. I know that as a society we so deify independence, that we valorize people who end their lives rather than growing old, rather than "becoming a burden". It's like living amongst a cult of youth, which is correlated often with near-perfect help and able-bodyness. these stories are echoed in our culture -- in movies like "Million Dollar Baby" (which actually have not seen) that imply we're better of dead than disabled.
The only ways that we the elderly or disabled are celebrated is if they become heroes overcoming ridiculous odds, or accomplish tremendous feats that defy expectations of rest and repose in retirement. But what of this? What of those living quiet lives like Eileen Allen who refused a walker for years because she didn't want to be an old lady. And then one day after falling in the street and being unable to get up, bit the bullet and bought a walker , saying "why the hell didn't I do this sooner?" Eileen Allen who loves nothing more than writing, reading and walking and then, as she aged, had each taken away from her. She overcame her pride and got a walker allowing her some movement again. Then she began going blind, a devastation for somebody in love with reading and writing. so then suggested she try memorizing poetry. she'd never had much of a taste for it, but discovered a new world through words that she carried in her head. Eileen Allen who had the fantastic audacity to say, "I like being old"!
And I'm guessing, had you asked her in her youth she would find any happiness and joy were she blind and able to move only slowly, precariously with the aid of walker, she would probably instead envisioned depression and gloom. Which is exactly what I envisioned back when I said my life would be over if anything happened to my hands. Which is what I hear all the time around me -- on the radio the other day when the reporter interviewing a Dr. about Locked in Syndrome commented that most people would never want to live in such condition. And I'm sure most people would say so. I can't help remembering the story of a man who had been assumed brain-dead, and finally discovered to have Locked in Syndrome was now able to communicate, to use a computer with accessibility tools, who has commented as saying it was fantastic to finally be able to communicate with others. And although it was only a short radio piece, I heard nothing saying that he wanted to end his life.
Which brings me back to my point, that ourselves in the present are often poor judges of where we will find a life worth living in the future. So limited are we in our vision, so blinded by our own way of life is the only one worth living, so small are our imaginations that I do not trust us to make determinations regarding life and death about our future selves. And I celebrate women like sisters in spirit like Eileen Allen who tell their tales, who massage the scope and breadth of our imaginations by telling their stories of transformation. And, this is one of the reasons I like talking about my health issues -- I. hope that by sharing my experiences, and a sense of peace and joy I have now that I do not know if I would have had I kept on moving my busy life with a pain-free and fully functional body. But, sometimes I have noticed, it is difficult for people to hear. They think we are exceptions, but they could never be happy in our position... And so did I once upon a time.