I have many books on my bookshelves about aging, including a small book I bought many years ago titled When I Am An Old Woman I Shall Wear Purple by Sandra Martz. In it is the poem “Warning” by Jenny Joseph, who writes that when she is old, she will disregard propriety, disregard the shackles of responsibility, eat what she wants without worry of being fat, and, among other things, learn to spit. I got this book when I was much younger, and being old was far away.
I am now old and do not wear purple or always do what I want, but I worry less and appreciate more of what I used to take for granted. I find joy in simple pleasures, like walking the dog, being with a loved one, and the functioning of my body. I do not need to be preposterous, like the woman in the poem, to be happy, but I do want to experience joy and freedom; the freedom to listen and trust my inner sense of rightness, which includes actions that have meaning and bring kindness and joy not only to myself but also to others.
Being old is different than what I thought it would be. It is harder than I imagined, and much better. It continues to surprise me that I am old. I have a T-shirt that says, “It’s weird being the same age as those old people.” The word old is one I still have trouble accepting. I don’t feel “old” because the image in my mind is of a person wrinkled and compromised, frail and demented—like my grandparents were. Yet just this morning I talked with two women, both in their 90s, who were in my chair yoga class. They are vital, mentally sharp, interesting, and fun to be around. Being old can be like vintage wine or a rotten tomato. The way we relate to it makes a difference. Loss can’t be avoided, but gratitude can increase. I am old, but I am still open to surprise and the joy of new experiences.
I spent time recently with some younger cousins of mine and realized I am of the same generation as their mothers, both of whom were older than me by 5 and 8 years and are now deceased. This makes me the matriarch of the family on my mother’s side (my father’s too). It’s been a delight getting to know these cousins. My husband, David, and I had a wonderful dinner with them and their spouses recently, and we laughed together and shared camaraderie. I wasn’t close to their parents and missed most of their growing up, so I appreciate getting to know them and enjoying their company now. It was a jolt to realize how much younger they are than I, and the gap between my awareness of them as children and now. I felt I had more in common with them than their parents. My awareness that we are of different generations made me recognize that I am old. They are no longer young and have adult children of their own. They, too, feel they are “old”, but remembering their birth makes me own my age and elderhood. I am old!!!
What does being old mean to me now? I have shrunk, I have lines on my face, and my body has changed. Sometimes I wear purple, but not every day. I do find it easier to pay attention and remember what is important.
I am grateful I have a meditation practice and teach it and stay connected to my friends who teach and help me remember how interconnected and interdependent we all are.
A friend of mine reminded me of the teachings of Angela Arrien’s Four Fold Way which is:
1. Show up and be present, acknowledge my chi (life force), and use it wisely
2. Pay attention to what is important: cultivating wisdom, love, and kindness.
3. Be authentic and speak my truth without blame or judgment.
4. Be open to the outcome: Participate with an open mind and remain unattached to specific outcomes. It means owning my views, prejudices and assumptions and realizing I may not always get what I want—and there’s much I want and like.
I continue to find being old challenging. Change is stressful. Every day there are changes. Some I like; others are worrisome, but I continue to say yes to life and all that’s in it. It’s been my slogan for many years.
How do you relate to the word “old”? What does being old mean to you?
WARNING by Jenny Johnson
When I am an old woman I shall wear purple
With a red hat which doesn’t go, and doesn’t suit me.
And I shall spend my pension on brandy and summer gloves
And satin sandals, and say we’ve no money for butter.
I shall sit down on the pavement when I’m tired
And gobble up samples in shops and press alarm bells
And run my stick along the public railings
And make up for the sobriety of my youth.
I shall go out in my slippers in the rain
And pick the flowers in other people’s gardens
And learn to spit.
You can wear terrible shirts and grow more fat
And eat three pounds of sausages at a go
Or only bread and pickle for a week
And hoard pens and pencils and beermats and things in boxes.
But now we must have clothes that keep us dry
And pay our rent and not swear in the street
And set a good example for the children.
We must have friends to dinner and read the papers.
But maybe I ought to practise a little now?
So people who know me are not too shocked and surprised
When suddenly I am old, and start to wear purple.