From Depositphotos.
When I was a young teenager, I’d sit in the eye doctor’s waiting room and watch the older patients. Back then, getting your eyes dilated took three “rounds” of drops, with long waits in between.
I’d see women on the bus after a day of shopping — all “heels and hose” — smiling patiently. I’d see older folks nodding with gratitude when visitors came by.
And I’d think: I’m glad I’m not them.
I assumed that once I grew up, I’d somehow know how to bake cookies. I’d be patient and kind. I’d have all the time in the world. Things wouldn’t bother me.
Then I got older. Things still bother me. I still get angry.
There’s a Peanuts cartoon from sixty years ago (September 9, 1965) where Linus tells Lucy, “It’s better to light a single candle than to curse the darkness.” But then he admits, there are those who disagree. Lucy shakes her fist and shouts, “You stupid darkness!”
I’m with her.
A while back, I wrote an article called Do I Have to Get Holier When I Get Older?
My asnwer was, “Hopefully not.”
People talk about aging as a path to patience, kindness, and wisdom. Sister Joyce Rupp, in an interview with Jim Martin, spoke about the spirituality of aging — acceptance of loss, acceptance of change.
I think that’s too easy. I don’t want to accept. I want to protest.
When people treat me badly, I want to let them know. When medical staff talk to me like I’m two years old, or a clinic can’t be bothered to fix long wait times, I want to walk away from care altogether. When the physical burdens get too heavy and I can’t do meaningful things, I want the right to opt out with, “No thanks. I’d rather be dead.”
That’s hard to say unless you’re in hospice, but it shouldn’t be. We should be able to fight for those rights without apologizing.
And when someone says older people become more gentle and accepting? I want to smash that stereotype — and maybe their smugness along with it.
Not long ago, I was crossing a small street on my way to barre class. I waited for a woman on a bike to pass. She stopped and said, “Go ahead, sweetheart.”
If I were more “spiritual,” I’d have thought, She means well. Instead, I thought, Call me sweetheart and I’ll call you a m—–f—— c—. I didn’t say it — just (somewhat) politely asked her not to call me that.
The truth is: if everyone’s gentle and accepting, nothing changes. The civil rights movement didn’t happen because people smiled and kept their voices down. Change came because people got angry. They broke norms. They scared the comfortable.
So much for the spirituality of aging. I’ll take the rough side.
Getting older is hard. It’s often not fun. And I’m not going to pretend otherwise. I’m not going gentle into that dark night. I’m not resigned. I’m still here, fist in the air, yelling at the darkness.
