Thinking about age

They used to say that old age was always 15 years older than you are, but I can’t really say that any more. During this horrific pandemic, we have more restrictions than our younger counterparts, and I was wryly amused to see that senior citizens are characterized as those over 60 – and that applies to two of my sons.

Not so long ago, I was able to tell jokes about aging, like the doctor who told his elderly patient that he had two bad pieces of news for him:

“What’s the first?”

“I’m sorry to tell you that your memory is so bad that I’m afraid you’re really senile.”

“What else?”

“You have diabetes.”

“Oh, well, as long as I’m not senile!” I hate the platitudes that people think you need to hear as you grow older. All those tired old clichés like: “It’s always darkest just before the dawn.” The truth is it’s always darkest just before things go pitch black.

Is it just imagination, or was life lived at a slower, gentler tempo back when we were young? Things change in cities around the world, but when you revisit the scenes of your youth, the voices of today seem more strident, even if the ghosts of your past are still flitting around once-loved venues, causing nostalgic smiles and sighs.

The saddest part of growing older is the necessary losses we sustain along the way. Not just the loss of innocence and dreams that didn’t work out, but the inevitable loss of loved ones, both family and friends.

First we suffer the trauma of losing parents, who are irreplaceable, then sometimes siblings – the only ones you could really talk to about the family in which you grew up. Just a few words evoked floods of shared memories. With a brother or sister, there is a kind of verbal shorthand. No need for long explanations. As the years pass, sibling rivalry mellows to a unique warmth and affinity.

When we lose old friends, or tragically a spouse, we are also diminished. They are the ones who helped us through crises, who knew all our shortcomings and yet still loved us. When they go, we know there is no one else who will understand us in quite the same way.

BUT GROWING old has its compensations.

When we become grandparents or great-grandparents, a whole new set of challenges faces us.

Here are little children who may be fascinated by our tales of long ago. They will laugh at the same jokes you told their parents, be happy to play the same games with you and sing the same songs.

It is beyond their understanding that you lived before the era of television and computer games, dishwashers and mobile phones, and that even airplanes were once a novelty to you.

Until they reach teenage years, when they think they know everything, often you are their source of wisdom, and your stories are listened to with awe. You give them unconditional love, and their hugs and kisses are your reward.

It was George Bernard Shaw who said that youth is such a wonderful thing, it is a shame to waste it on children. Although it’s true that I’ve been young and I’ve been old – and young is better – there are some compensations.

Growing old is certainly better than the alternative, and the nice thing about wrinkles is that they don’t hurt. Years ago, when the wrinkles first began to appear, I used to think if I had the time, money and courage, it would be great to have a face-lift. But you know what – the quickest and most inexpensive face-lift is just to smile. It draws your features upward and emits warmth and happiness.

There are three wake-up calls as we age: we’re not going to become president of the company (or, if we did, it’s not as satisfying as we imagined); your family life is not going to resemble The Partridge Family or Little House on the Prairie; and we are not immortal.

The good news is that such realizations can motivate a positive change, if we carve out some quiet, contemplative time.

The perfect antidote to depression can be found in nature. It frees us from noise and distractions, giving us valuable insights into our personal transitions.

I was once in a forest in Galilee. There was a rotting tree stump, but there were new green shoots growing out of the decay. I realized that as things decay, compost is created to foster new growth. So instead of grieving for what we are losing, we should focus on the next stage by surrendering to nature’s ebb and flow.

Our Jewish tradition teaches us that “youth is a garland of roses, but old age is a crown of willows.” Life takes away much as we grow older – spontaneity and excitement, strength, recklessness and a sense of adventure. But we are compensated by gaining new qualities. We learn not to judge others harshly; to appreciate each new day. We have the time to converse quietly, to savor old wine, to behave with dignity and look for the dewdrop in the heart of the rose.

The quickest and most inexpensive facelift is just to smile

(TNS) HERE ARE little children who may be fascinated by our tales of long ago.