Is there a better name for aging?

Some time ago the senior minister at our church announced a series of sermons titled, “Life Comes at You Fast.” He intended to explore four ages: childhood, adolescence, adulthood, and, according to the announcement, old adulthood. I howled in protest that I did not want to be called an “old adult,” and Russ Peterman, our minister, confessed that was a typo: it should have read “older adulthood.” Not much of an improvement in my mind. Later, he wrote that at one church he’d served, the seniors called themselves Third Agers. I thought that sounded a lot better, but then, a few days later, I saw a reference to the “chronologically-enhanced population.” Whoever wrote that admitted the phrase does not trip lightly off the tongue. But it’s pretty expressive, and Russ used it in his sermon this morning.

He talked about some closely-held ideas in America, one of them being a fear of aging. We all know that the media bombards us with glorification of youth and rarely has much good to say about age. Similarly, one person talked of the so-called golden years as a time of being, not doing. You’ve worked hard all your life, doing, so now you can let others do, and you can just be. Not an attitude that Russ endorsed. Instead, if I got his meaning, he spoke of our older years as a time of freedom—kids are grown, family is probably more stable financially, career is over or slowing down—but he emphasized that we cannot sit back. We in our seventies, eighties, and beyond have accumulated wisdom to share with the world. It behooves us to share our wisdom, to use our new leisure time to better the world somehow. A wealth of volunteer opportunities are open to older adults. What I got out of today’s words—and I hope I’m not distorting—is that we should use the hard-earned lessons of the past to move forward. We are never too old to participate in life.

That struck home to me because the other night I was talking to a friend, a minister, and said I feared becoming irrelevant. This was partly prompted by the fact that more and more when I go out, I want to be pushed in the transport chair rather than walk with my walker. I’m not sure if it’s a return of my fear of open spaces (I sort of suspect that) or a sign of growing weaker. My friend said it was not a sign of weakness. “You are engaged,” she said, and that made me feel a lot better. And maybe that’s what Russ was saying: as we grow older, we must continue to be engaged, bringing with us the wisdom of the past as we move into the future. He quoted former U.N. Secretary General Dag Hammarskjöld: “For all that has been, Thanks. To all that shall be, Yes.”

Last night I had a lovely dinner in the Blue Spire, the formal dining room at the Trinity Terrace retirement community. Friends Carol and Lon have been there about two months, and they invited me and Jean (who already lives there) to join them. The dining room is on the twelfth floor, and I tried to take a picture of the view, but it didn’t come out. Me, who goes weak in the knees at height, loves to be inside looking out from that height. Jean lives on the seventeenth floor, and I’m not sure I’d be comfortable with that. Carol and Lon are on the fifth floor in a different tower, and I was at ease with that. When Subie and Phil get there next month, they will be on the third floor, easy for Phil and his seeing-eye dog to navigate.

Much of the conversation was about Trinity Terrace, what goes on there from food service to programs, and who lives there. It struck me that someone said, “Has memory problems” about every second person whose name came up. Is it in the atmosphere? Something that’s catching? Then it dawned on me: these people are in their seventies and eighties (and a few nineties)—of course they have memory problems. It’s part of aging and doesn’t necessarily lead to Alzheimer’s or dementia. I have memory problems all the time, mostly people’s names that I can’t grasp. After a few minutes, the name comes to me, and I go on my way. I think I’ve been doing that since I was, maybe, forty? Where I wonder, does one draw the line, and what is the line anyway? I am reminded of me friend and once teacher Fred who moved, with his wife, to an apartment complex filled with friends of Jordan. When I pointed out he is old and the other occupants were all young, he said, “Precisely.” Maybe he too was afraid it was catching.

One final thought from the sermon: we take with us into old age the attitudes we’ve had all our lives. I hope your attitude is on health and happiness.