I am older now, but around the time I turned 50 I entered the sort of purgative space (a true purgatory in the literary sense of the word) that lasted for the better part of 15 or so years. The purgation involved giving up almost all of those things our culture idolizes about youth: beauty, athleticism, being willing and able to burn the candle at both ends during any number of socially approved 'youth' activities, like partying, outdoor adventuring, travel, trading up for larger and larger homes in better and better neighborhoods, and filling them up with culturally approved (chic) artifacts. For women, it also involves a gradual acclimation to not being an object of lust, which equates too often with being socially desirable across the board. In terms of career, it involves for possibly the first time being passed over for a promotion or not getting a job you applied for. All, all, initially painful losses that have to be grieved, while at the same time trying to see what might compensate for this as we enter what is essentially an entirely new country. And I am here to report that there are many fine discoveries to be made there, and choices available that lead to bona fide happiness, which while sometimes tangent to former ways of being happy, most often involve letting them go and discovering new pathways perhaps more well suited to who you are once shorn of your former manufactured identities. There are lots of books on the subject, some of them treasures, so I won't belabor the point here, but it's for real. The trick is allowing the process to happen withou overwhelming resistance. Good luck, Ian.
I feel it most when it comes to basketball. I was a pretty good player most of my life, good enough to play with much better players, including guys who played professionally and in college, but I started gradually fading in my mid-40s, then dramatically faded around age 50, and stopped playing a few years ago. I became a detriment to my teams on the court. And not playing at all hurts far less than playing so poorly.
I noticed this as a runner. 20 years ago, I was whizzing by most of the other runners in the park. Now I’m just an old guy shuffling along, trying to make sure I’m in nobody’s way.
a well written article, but I was looking for something new. I supposed I have lived too long and "seen it all before". Apologies to the well-intentioned author, but i find it numbingly boring. This fixation on age is as intolerable as the fixation on weight, money and good looks. See you somewhere else, I'm off ..
I tend to agree. I'm 63 and this obsessing about age is a bit tedious. The author is rightly dubious about the supposed gain of wisdom with age. I'd put it differently and say that I tend not to take things so seriously (including yourself), or at least have a bit more perspective on what really matters. The worst part is that, in terms of your chances of survival, from 60 onwards you've entered sniper alley (as a friend of mine put it so well).
Aging? From someone who has been there (and will presently be lapping you):
"To be reminded of your decay every time you look in the mirror is, as the kids say, low-key brutal...."
-- Looking in the mirror is not really so bad, because your eyes will have developed shock-absorbers for that view. The image to avoid is the one in photographs.
"Let’s be honest: after a certain point—35? 40?—growing older is psychologically punishing. How could it not be? It involves getting a little bit weaker, stupider and uglier every year."
-- This is not something you can emulate, but I had the foresight to be as weak, stupid, and ugly as possible in the first place. Ha.
"You often hear people say 'inside I still feel young.' It’s tempting to dismiss that as meaningless happy talk but actually it’s often true, and it’s one of the strangest things about growing older."
-- Absolutely true. When I'm out walking, I'm not old me; just me.
With so many people saying eighty is the new sixty, you figure sixty must be the new forty. Then you think, Who wants to turn forty?
Err on the side of gratitude. Being part of the world is a great gift.
I think how one experiences aging is mainly a matter of expectations.
For someone who was quite active in their youth, the impact of losing endurance and flexibility must hit like a huge cosmic scolding. For someone who enjoyed the early social and even work success that beauty can bring, the lessening of that youthful beauty must cause growing desperation. For someone who grew up acclaimed for their quick-wittedness, fumbling for a memory can be the stuff of panic.
A lessening of youthful appearance and a leeching of physical vigor is nobody's fault, per se, but I'm sure it feels that way.
I'm 71. I admit, I've had a hard time dealing with the generational thinning at my workplace. It feels weird to realize that my two daughters think they have the right to not only advise me, but on some level COMPEL me to be led by them. But in all other ways, I feel happy to be this age. I suppose I'm lucky, insofar as I've been healthy for most of my life, and I have very few organized expectations about what parts of my body are going to become decrepit first.
I started going to the gym in my 40's and discovered that I liked lifting weights, of all things! My arms at rest are now "bat wings", but if I flex you can see that there's still muscle there. I overdid it on the elliptical machine when I was 61 and suffered a knee injury which taught me about how diminishing returns can really make one FEEL old -- but earlier this year I got that knee replaced, and now I feel better than I did when I injured it 10 years ago. (From low expectations to higher expectations. It feels like hope.)
Given the choice between having youth and vigor, or age and cunning, I'll take age and cunning every time. Yes, I wish I knew then what I know now, but so it goes.
I am older now, but around the time I turned 50 I entered the sort of purgative space (a true purgatory in the literary sense of the word) that lasted for the better part of 15 or so years. The purgation involved giving up almost all of those things our culture idolizes about youth: beauty, athleticism, being willing and able to burn the candle at both ends during any number of socially approved 'youth' activities, like partying, outdoor adventuring, travel, trading up for larger and larger homes in better and better neighborhoods, and filling them up with culturally approved (chic) artifacts. For women, it also involves a gradual acclimation to not being an object of lust, which equates too often with being socially desirable across the board. In terms of career, it involves for possibly the first time being passed over for a promotion or not getting a job you applied for. All, all, initially painful losses that have to be grieved, while at the same time trying to see what might compensate for this as we enter what is essentially an entirely new country. And I am here to report that there are many fine discoveries to be made there, and choices available that lead to bona fide happiness, which while sometimes tangent to former ways of being happy, most often involve letting them go and discovering new pathways perhaps more well suited to who you are once shorn of your former manufactured identities. There are lots of books on the subject, some of them treasures, so I won't belabor the point here, but it's for real. The trick is allowing the process to happen withou overwhelming resistance. Good luck, Ian.
I feel it most when it comes to basketball. I was a pretty good player most of my life, good enough to play with much better players, including guys who played professionally and in college, but I started gradually fading in my mid-40s, then dramatically faded around age 50, and stopped playing a few years ago. I became a detriment to my teams on the court. And not playing at all hurts far less than playing so poorly.
Write more books! I love them.
Play with people your own age.
I noticed this as a runner. 20 years ago, I was whizzing by most of the other runners in the park. Now I’m just an old guy shuffling along, trying to make sure I’m in nobody’s way.
It's not as fun to beat guys as decrepit as I am.
One of my favourite poems is by the Australian poet David Campbell:
The cruel girls we loved
Are over forty,
Their subtle daughters
Have stolen their beauty;
And with a blue stare
Of cool surprise,
They mock their anxious mothers
With their mothers’ eyes.
Excellent piece.
a well written article, but I was looking for something new. I supposed I have lived too long and "seen it all before". Apologies to the well-intentioned author, but i find it numbingly boring. This fixation on age is as intolerable as the fixation on weight, money and good looks. See you somewhere else, I'm off ..
I tend to agree. I'm 63 and this obsessing about age is a bit tedious. The author is rightly dubious about the supposed gain of wisdom with age. I'd put it differently and say that I tend not to take things so seriously (including yourself), or at least have a bit more perspective on what really matters. The worst part is that, in terms of your chances of survival, from 60 onwards you've entered sniper alley (as a friend of mine put it so well).
Aging? From someone who has been there (and will presently be lapping you):
"To be reminded of your decay every time you look in the mirror is, as the kids say, low-key brutal...."
-- Looking in the mirror is not really so bad, because your eyes will have developed shock-absorbers for that view. The image to avoid is the one in photographs.
"Let’s be honest: after a certain point—35? 40?—growing older is psychologically punishing. How could it not be? It involves getting a little bit weaker, stupider and uglier every year."
-- This is not something you can emulate, but I had the foresight to be as weak, stupid, and ugly as possible in the first place. Ha.
"You often hear people say 'inside I still feel young.' It’s tempting to dismiss that as meaningless happy talk but actually it’s often true, and it’s one of the strangest things about growing older."
-- Absolutely true. When I'm out walking, I'm not old me; just me.
With so many people saying eighty is the new sixty, you figure sixty must be the new forty. Then you think, Who wants to turn forty?
Err on the side of gratitude. Being part of the world is a great gift.
https://thefamilyproperty.blogspot.com/2024/09/if-i-should-die-before-we-wake.html
I think how one experiences aging is mainly a matter of expectations.
For someone who was quite active in their youth, the impact of losing endurance and flexibility must hit like a huge cosmic scolding. For someone who enjoyed the early social and even work success that beauty can bring, the lessening of that youthful beauty must cause growing desperation. For someone who grew up acclaimed for their quick-wittedness, fumbling for a memory can be the stuff of panic.
A lessening of youthful appearance and a leeching of physical vigor is nobody's fault, per se, but I'm sure it feels that way.
I'm 71. I admit, I've had a hard time dealing with the generational thinning at my workplace. It feels weird to realize that my two daughters think they have the right to not only advise me, but on some level COMPEL me to be led by them. But in all other ways, I feel happy to be this age. I suppose I'm lucky, insofar as I've been healthy for most of my life, and I have very few organized expectations about what parts of my body are going to become decrepit first.
I started going to the gym in my 40's and discovered that I liked lifting weights, of all things! My arms at rest are now "bat wings", but if I flex you can see that there's still muscle there. I overdid it on the elliptical machine when I was 61 and suffered a knee injury which taught me about how diminishing returns can really make one FEEL old -- but earlier this year I got that knee replaced, and now I feel better than I did when I injured it 10 years ago. (From low expectations to higher expectations. It feels like hope.)
Given the choice between having youth and vigor, or age and cunning, I'll take age and cunning every time. Yes, I wish I knew then what I know now, but so it goes.