“I’m confused”—that’s a line from the movie Moonstruck, said by the grandfather who is called “Old Man” by the family’s matriarch. The family is sitting around the table arguing about love, marriage, betrayal and change. The Old Man starts to cry. “What’s the matter Pop?” asks his son. Then the Old Man says it, ”I’m confused.”
Many viewers
may have missed that line, but I pondered it for decades. Why was he confused?
At first, I put it down to old age, maybe dementia. Now. I know different.
At midnight
on September 15th, I turned 71. I am a hotbed of confusion.
Like the Old
Man, I still have a place at the table. But I want to be secure as to what that
place entails. I understand his dilemma. Should he have spoken up with his
opinion? Would he have been thought of as wise…or just a meddler?
Did he have
the right to sit at the head of the table by virtue of his age? Or was it right
that the younger family members took charge, allowing the Old Man a place out
of love or largess while stripping him of the power to contribute to the
conversation? No wonder he was so confused that he could only think to cry.
Of course,
my confusion does not cause me to cry…it causes me to shout. But still I am
confused.
For example,
one of my birthday events was walking from Atlantic City, New Jersey, to Ocean
City, a beautiful 17-mile walk along the beach and boardwalk. The walk was
listed on Meet Up and attracted 11 people, only one of whom I knew—the leader.
There was one fellow older than me…four women in their 30s…and a few men and
women in their late 40s—all veteran walkers.
Here’s what
happened. The older man dropped out early without saying good-bye. The young
women walked faster than me and left me in the dust. The rest of the group
walked the route with me, but because I was the slowest, the leader walked with
me to make sure that I didn’t get too far back…but I made it!
The group
walk seemed to be a metaphor for my role in a larger society.
This ability
to keep pace far better than my elders or even folks of the same age, but not
as well as those younger is confusing.
Where
exactly is my place? I am not ready to vanish. I must admit I can’t keep up
with the fastest and youngest of the group, nor with my younger self.
How about my
looks? I get this comment all the time, “You look great for 70 (now 71).” What
exactly does that mean? I’m confused. Does it mean that I should look lousy by
now, but I don’t? Or that my looks surprisingly have stood up
to the ravages of time? Or that I look good, but can never compete with the
looks of anyone younger? I never heard anyone say to anyone, “You look great
for 25.”
I’m not job
hunting, but if I were, I would not only be confused but I would confuse HR
people, as well.
Recent
articles on the older workforce are confusing. Many commentators lament the
loss of the older workforce’s experience and know-how, claiming that age
discrimination is pushing us out. In contrast, other workforce reports assert
that issues of age are no longer off-putting because recruiters realize that
our longevity is giving us extended peak years.
Even the
government is confused. The Secure Act, now before the Senate, recognizes that
we will work longer, and it is drafted to extend the number of years we can
contribute to retirement plans with tax deferral. But our legislators are
confused as to whether that should be age 72, 75 or some other age.
Here’s the
scoop.
Boomers born
between 1946 and 1964 feel great, are vigorous, hold jobs, start new
businesses, volunteer, go to school, travel and experience life in all its
glory, as no generation has ever done before. Still, we are aging. Different
parts of our bodies hurt, depending on the day and the season. Friends start
leaving the neighborhood, moving to over-55 communities or to be closer to
family. People all around us are retiring and treading their next steps on
uncertain turf.
And
occasionally we read on Facebook or get an e-mail or an invitation that there
is a funeral. We are shocked…we are scared…and we are also surprised, “So
young,” we say. The deceased is in his/her 70s. And so are we. It’s confusing.
On this
first day of being over 70, I leave for the Philadelphia Fringe Festival, which
celebrates innovation through the arts, with my husband of 48 years. We will
see four shows in one day.
Tomorrow, I
will take a course on how to build a YouTube Channel that offers information on
successful aging. The next day, I will speak to assisted-living activity
directors at their annual conference on the topic of life engagement. I am
supposed to be an expert on successful aging. I feel like a fraud. I don’t even
have a grasp of my own aging. I will tell them I am 71. As I do, I will wonder
how that’s possible. I feel so young!
Epilogue
Yes, I am
confused. But I am not crying. On the contrary. I have begun to believe that
this age confusion is part of a cultural change. Perhaps it’s right to be
confused because dwelling on the number of years you have lived makes no
sense. I don’t want to create my life’s journey based on the date of my birth.
I believe
that right before our eyes the number signifying our age is slowly
disappearing as a significant factor in who we are, what we can do and what the
culture demands of us. In this sea of change, the place of elders in society is
evolving. Evolution is confusing, but also exciting and strengthening.
My Birthday Wish
When my
friends reach 70, I hope they will have a secure and confident place in
society, with clear and noble purposes to fulfill.
I hope they
will enter a life stage where they have at least an equal place at the table.
I just
reviewed my Philly Fringe tickets. I am seeing Inge’s iconic play Come Back Little Sheba…a
60’s folk concert…Subterranean, a performance art piece…and Late Night
Snacks featuring drag stars from The Bearded Ladies troupe. I chose these
from among dozens of others. Yes, my tastes may be considered eclectic or, to
some, “confusing”—but they have been fine-tuned over seven decades of theatre
experience. And that’s nothing to cry about.