Definition of ‘elderly’ changes as we age
A couple of days ago, a colleague mentioned that her mother was turning 73, and I responded with a small exclamation — along the lines of “whoa” or “oof ” — as if to suggest that, wow, 73, that’s really getting up there.
Then I paused. Why had I reacted that way? No doubt because, however subliminally, I’ve been conditioned by the social messages that from the time we’re young tell us that 70 is old and being old is regrettable.
But the older I get, the younger 70 seems. So I revised. “Seventy-three’s not old,” I said. But it’s not middle-age either, my colleague said, so what would you call someone of her mother’s age? She thought “elderly” was an accurate term. I disagreed.
No doubt about it: There is a new phase of life that begins after, oh, 60 or so. I say this from the perspective of 64.
By the time you’re in your 60s, you probably have at least one friend or sibling who has died, and your own mortality has moved from the far reaches of your peripheral vision a little closer to center view.
By then, your appearance has begun to shift toward something the culture constantly suggests should be hidden or repaired. You’ve abandoned whatever delusion you may have clung to in your 50s that you — you alone in the history of humankind — would not succumb to the hazards of time. You haven’t memorized the lyrics to a new pop song in a while.
Does all that make you elderly? Aging well involves aging honestly, and it’s good to embrace the truth of getting older, no matter how vital and engaged you remain as you do. But we don’t have good language for aging, a lack that reflects our culture’s underlying discomfort with it.
Google the word “elderly” and the first definition that pops up offers these as synonyms:
“Old, mature, older, senior, hoary, ancient, senescent, advanced in years, in one’s dotage, long in the tooth, as old as the hills, past one’s prime, not as young as one used to be, getting on, over the hill, no spring chicken.”
Clearly, while “elderly” may be used with clinical detachment by doctors and social service agencies, its broader use is often, if unintentionally, demeaning.
But who cares? A word is just a word, right?
If only it were so.
Words reflect and shape our prejudices and expectations, and as the anti-aging activist Ashton Applewhite, who is 66, puts it, ageism is “the last socially sanctioned prejudice.”
With the wrong words, we reinforce prejudice. With the right words, we begin to dismantle harmful, illconceived notions. Many of us — I include myself — carry those biases without realizing it.
After my conversation with my colleague, I posted a question on Facebook: When you hear that someone is “elderly” or hear the term “the elderly,” what age or age bracket comes to mind?
The question quickly spurred more than 200 comments. The majority said it started around 80, but many said 90. Only a few commenters, typically under 40, thought it started sooner.
One man in his 30s cited 72 because it was the age at which his grandmother died. Someone replied that when her mother died at 78, she always told people her mother died young.
“Touche,” he wrote.
Another man, who is 40, pegged “elderly” as “Whenever you start complaining that it is drafty.”
A few other comments:
To me, it seems that elderly now is only applicable with those who need a lot of assistance to get by day to day.
For some time now, I have noticed that my concept of “old” is 20 years older than my parents. When they were 40, 60 seemed old. When they were 50, it was 70. And now, believe it or not, I think of old as 90!
I’m a very active, vital man of almost 63, in the midst of building my second career. Yet I’m certain if I were ever mugged or in an accident, a newspaper would describe me as an elderly Chicago man.
Not our newspaper, I hope. The AP Stylebook says “elderly” should be used carefully and sparingly:
“It is appropriate in generic phrases that do not refer to specific individuals: concern for elderly people, a home for senior citizens, etc.
“If the intent is to show that an individual’s faculties have deteriorated, cite a graphic example and give attribution for it. Use age when available and appropriate.”
A lot of people like to say that “You’re only as old as you feel,” a well-intentioned sentiment but false.
Age is real. Time runs out. We can’t wish that truth away, but we can broaden how we talk and think about it.
In certain yoga traditions, the life cycle is divided into three phases: sunrise, midday, sunset. That pleasant division skips too quickly from noon to 7 p.m.
I’d say there’s a phase between midday and sunset, one that would include the age of 73. Call it late afternoon, a beautiful moment in the day, with plenty of time to get things done, even though it’s obvious the light is fading.