Aging

Aging has been on my mind. For several months, different aspects of how people age
have crept up and swirled around in my consciousness.

Faces are easy enough to ascribe to being just what they are – faces. We have stereotypes and caricatures that are so embedded in our outlooks that it’s easy to look at a very old, wrinkled woman and find her “interesting” or “charming” or “pitiful”.

We do this at home. An old person is an old person and has certain expected traits. A child is a child with things we assume about them on a glance. On a “normal day”, in my “normal life”, I don’t think much about age.

I’m not someone who cares much about my birthday other than it’s an excuse to get together with friends and get a cake I really like. I know I’m older than I used to be – especially at the end of a multi-day trek. But I also don’t feel old in anyway. It helps that I wasn’t wild, crazy or rebellious in my teens and 20’s because it helps reduce the amount of contrast between then and now.

Other than a ring on my finger, a more responsible attitude about credit cards, some white hair in my beard, and a sometimes nagging worry about what our (formerly my) strange and wild Kintamani dog’s guest behavior while staying in his foster home (he occasionally eats door frames) – I don’t feel and see age as part of my life.

But there it sits on display for all to see in the faces, bodies and attitudes of the people we see – especially in Nepal. Passing through villages on our trek, we saw women who looked worn out and aged from years of working in the sun and carrying heavy loads strapped to their heads and backs.

Emily pointed out that so often, girls start working at age four – and women are the ones who do far more of the heavy and hard labor than the men. In fact, Nepal is one of only two countries in the world in which women do not on average outlive men. Look into the rice terraces and unlike Bali or Thailand – you’ll see women and girls toiling in the sun. So, who knows exactly how old these exhausted, wrinkled, joyless looking women are? They might be 50 and look like they’re 80. I just don’t know.

Meanwhile, at breakfast at The Farmhouse resort in Nagarkot, I struck up a conversation with a French woman who was part of a tour group staying there. She lives in Marseilles, is probably in her late 50’s or early 60’s and looks radiant. The woman told me how she’s in Nepal for about a month – several weeks with the group seeing every part of Nepal and then, when the group disbands, she’ll stay for another couple of weeks with a guide and go for a two-week trek. Bravo.

More surprisingly, she worked for more than 30 years for Chase Manhattan and was stationed in locations throughout the world. She’s seen, she’s traveled, she adores the West Coast of the U.S. and she said that Chase gave her a marvelous 30 years of experiences which she couldn’t be happier about.

This woman might be older than some of the head-carrying village women, only she looks fantastic. She has an infinitely better life, she was dealt a much better hand at birth and her outlook comes with a mixture of hope, empowerment and joy that keeps one younger.

She’s also very French. As has been well-established on this blog, I’m rather pro-French. In France, I have always marveled at the French ability to age well. Unless they toss all their decrepit people into a receptacle and lock them away, the French appear to have a flair for aging well.

One day in a cafe in Cannes, the entire staff was busy fawning over a woman who must have been in her 80’s. She was dressed impeccably, hair done, make-up and jewelry perfect – but she walked very slowly and had trouble cutting her food.

Nonetheless, she liked a good lunch out as much as any French woman and the local cafe people knew her and attended her – cutting her food, putting a napkin on her and checking on her constantly. The waitress kissed the woman’s head when she passed. They told me after she left that she’s like their grandmother.

I saw the woman on the street a few days later, slowly making her way around the neighborhood to do her errands and see people. I asked her how she was today. She told me that she feels older and has fewer people in her life than she’d like – but she’s okay, gets around and feels well enough today. An amazingly honest and thoughtful answer to give to a stranger.

There were many women like her in France – women who felt that age is not an impediment to femininity, independence or enjoyment. You can see them throughout the streets, cafes and shops. Old men too walk around in nice slacks, collared shirts, sweaters, nice shoes, hats – all dressed up to go sit and talk with their friends or play some petanque at the park. Apparently, being French is an occupation that lasts until you can’t get out the door.

Meanwhile in Greece, I spent time wondering what was the day when a woman woke up – decided she’d had enough of taking care of herself or being feminine in any way, went to the store, bought the ugliest, most unflattering clothes she could find and called it a day? Similarly, for men – when do you burn all the jeans and shorts and replace them with nothing but cheap slacks and button-down shirts?

Greek women are a strange anomaly. Young women are stunningly beautiful and very feminine. Young Greek women with their olive complexions, and curvy figures love to show it off and turn heads. But older Greek women are so often the menopause poster-models in their housecoats and bulky, heavy shoes that clop when they walk. And exactly what triggers a woman to change her self-image and therefore her presentation?

I can’t decide if older Greek women are liberated in that they feel that age is natural and nothing to fight or to be ashamed of, or if they’re defeatist – because something about them feels like they’ve thrown in the towel on life.

Strangely, in Greece, the men in their cheap slacks and button-down shirts look far more put-together. They feel more as if there’s an air of presentation and image that they try to preserve, while the women are just out there with their, “I’m 55 and I’m done with all the cosmetic BS.”

When I lived in Singapore, my friend Alex pointed out how frail and seriously aged many of the elderly looked. He felt that because Singapore imports all its food and that produce often is sprayed with chemicals to give it a longer shelf-life, Singaporeans are getting less nutrition out of their produce, and therefore fewer anti-oxidants. Mix that with the fact that all three of the main cultures there love to fry and simmer their foods, vegetables are often left dead and lifeless by the time they are eaten.

I don’t know if his theory holds true or not. I do know that Singapore has the highest percentage of people with kidney failure in the world – and a giant and sophisticated dialysis program studied the world-over. Their lifestyle has changed dramatically in two-generations and like America and other Western countries, obesity and diabetes have become serious issues in Singapore.

The elderly so often look weak, frail and somewhat broken.

When I moved home from Singapore and took a job for a system of skilled nursing facilities, I saw people who were what one of my favorite Speech Language Pathologists called “train-wrecks”. People sometimes as young as their 60’s whose lives and life-choices led them to severe illness and frailty make up much of the long-term population of nursing homes.

I spent a lot of time thinking about the difference between an 80 year-old in a nursing home who can barely move and my Grandpa who at 80 was golfing, bowling, driving and socializing – or my Great Aunt Rose who was still going out dancing with her boyfriend in her mid-80’s and got married last year at age 90.

Aunt Rose ascribes her longevity and her always gorgeous appearance to not getting angry and letting things go. According to the Aunt Rose handbook, it’s the poison you create and hold onto that ages and kills you. As she told my dad recently, with laughter in her voice, “Forgiveness is good – I forgive you all!”

How we age seems like such a mix of culture, socialization, physical environment, life experiences and our inner make-up. Why do Thais look 20 years younger than they actually are? Why isn’t everyone an Aunt Rose? When do we toss on the shmatas and call ourselves old? Why do the faces of old Nepali men and women look so incredibly worn?

Most importantly, as I move along in life – and I know that life flies by in a heartbeat – how do I want to approach it? I look at the faces of the people we pass, at the way they stand, the choices they make and the light or dimness in their eyes – and think about it.

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