Aging in place
Many of us feel much older than we did eight weeks ago
I feel like I’m frozen or stuck. I’m not growing or changing … Every day is like the day before.”
TV sports editor Blake Jackson
WASHINGTON — Natasha Moskovitz mourns her old existence of only eight weeks ago. “I have a different perspective of life because of this. I feel so out of shape,” says the Haddonfield, N.J. resident. “Maybe this is what retirement feels like.”
Natasha, it should be noted, is 16.
“I’m always tired. I’m more stressed out than I have ever been,” says Jacqulyn Priestly, 40, of Glenn Dale, Maryland. She’s caring for three young sons while working as an energy and infrastructure communications strategist.
“I nap more than I ever did before. It’s a bore. A day feels like it doesn’t stop.”
We are not only sheltering in place but aging in place.
The novel coronavirus pandemic has exhausted us. Grief, anxiety, tedium, loss of control, restriction of movement, none of them rejuvenating, are part of our regimen.
Quotidian life has become smaller, quieter, routinized. Our footprint has shrunk to blocks.
New places, new people, fresh experiences — the things that invigorate us and
enrich our lives — are unavailable.
Most people are lucky to have the comforts of home, particularly when others must report to work as usual, putting themselves at risk. The elderly are more vulnerable to becoming seriously ill from the virus. Merely feeling as if you’re aging is a privilege. But many of us are receiving a sudden education in what aging will bring us, and not always its best aspects.
There’s a physical toll from coping with constant stress and anxiety. “I have hurt my back from the weight of all of this,” says Jenny Abeling, 37, executive director of Laurelhurst House, an assisted-living facility in Portland, Ore.
She took early, aggressive measures when the outbreak began, and no resident or staff member has got COVID-19. But Abeling is working 75 hours a week while she and her husband care for an exuberant five-year-old daughter at home.
“I feel so much older,” she says. “I could be 60. I feel like my body has aged so much overnight.”
We feel anxious going to the grocery store. A therapeutic walk can be an obstacle course in avoiding risk. Confinement limits our experiences, which large amounts of Zoom and Netflix cannot mitigate.
“I miss the world. I miss feeling the humanity all around me,” says Jocelyn McCormick, 76, a retired publishing executive in Los Angeles. “I am sick and tired of Zoom exercise classes and Zoom cocktail parties.”
Self-quarantine can feel like punishment. An excess of Zoom “feels like we’re all watching people in prison,” says Jonathon Aubrey, 44, who runs a Los Angeles marketing and branding company while caring for eight-year-old twins with his husband. “Being so sedentary feels like it’s winding us down.”
Another casualty is “we’ve lost a kind of innocence. Our children have lost a kind of innocence,” says psychiatrist Michael Baime, director of the Penn Program for Mindfulness at the University of Pennsylvania School of Medicine.
“It is exhausting, coping with uncertainty, unfamiliar circumstances, anything that is a deprivation for your regular social context,” says Baime, 64. “Your vital energy is diminished. You’re more likely to be depressed.”
When your daily life shrinks, small things can matter more. Dinner has achieved outsized importance. We’ve rekindled our love affair with carbs. But seductive carbs have a sneaky way of making us feel bloated and even older.
Humans are designed to move and progress — all challenges when we’re governed by limitations.
“I feel like I’m frozen or stuck. I’m not growing or changing or learning the same way I was. Every day is like the day before,” says Blake Jackson, 35, of Los Angeles, who is not working as a sports television editor because there are no sports right now.
His wife, Lia, 33, employed in television production accounting, says, “it feels like the outside world doesn’t exist,” particularly with the lack of seasons in Los Angeles. “Time feels like one big blob.”
Our backs ache. Our necks ache. We sit too much, gazing at too many screens.
Our hair is a foreign country. Self-care has been reduced to soap. Eyebrows have staged a mass rebellion. The rapid proliferation of grey tresses has eliminated any need to present ID for senior grocery hours.
Different day, same sweats. Makeup, collared shirts and nonelastic waistbands are distant memories.
“I don’t wear a bra when I hang out at home. I’m not worried about how I’m looking,” says singer Kora Feder, 25, of Philadelphia.
We may be aging in reverse, reverting to youthful behaviour. Like occasional tantrums. Or, at every possible meal, desiring ice cream, noodles, sugary cereal and large quantities of peanut butter straight from the jar.
Baime, the psychiatrist, admits, “I am regressed. I can get kind of cranky about the whole thing.” And he’s a meditation and mindfulness guy.
We’ve acquired wisdom, a benefit of aging. We’ve obtained coping skills in the worst possible circumstances. We’ve adapted quickly.
Many people have grown kinder, more appreciative of small things. We’ve taken more notice of spring. Old friends have reached out to rekindle relationships and forgive past transgressions.
“Eventually, we will be able to see this as a period of growth, that we’ve grown, and that’s desirable,” says Philadelphia-based therapist Tamar Chansky, 57.
Susan LaDuca, 78, a retired therapist in Boca Raton, Fla., leads a workshop for seniors, now through Zoom.
“We’re all doing OK, because we’re staying connected. But that lack of touching for so many people is so hard,” she says. Everyone is having trouble sleeping.
She and her husband, Tony, 79, a retired health educator, have few complaints, especially as COVID-19 has ravaged many members of their generation. The LaDucas realize they’re fortunate.
“We know seniors are more vulnerable, but I just don’t feel it,” she says.
They’re teaching classes, helping at a local food bank, staying active and involved. “We don’t have anything to complain about. We just feel old.”