For Angela
February 15, 2011 | 5 Comments
Recently, I’ve been asking you lovely readers to let me know if you have any questions or topics you’d like me to address in a blog post. I’ve received some amazing, deep, and deeply heartfelt questions. Stay tuned to hear riffs on issues such as:
“How can I maintain hope and foster hope in others in difficult circumstances?”
“I am interested in the subject of empathy – and especially cases when empathy is so strong that some people’s emotions and thoughts trouble you for days after. What to do?”
“How to overcome the fear of loneliness with an open heart. I’ve been longing for love and missing the intimacy that I had with my ex since our relationship ended fifteen months ago.”
“Any tips on maintaining relationship w chronically negative people? I’m a pos person…they’re bringing me down!”
Great, great questions/issues. But thought I’d start off with something a little more personal. This one was from Angela:
What is the hardest lesson you’ve had to learn so far in your life? and…. (I have to ask two): if you were marooned on a desert island and could have three things along to make your stay more tolerable, what would they be?
First off, I appreciate the personal questions, Angela, so thank you. The hardest lesson I’ve had to learn in my life is that aging is real. It is so painful to watch the greying of those around you, much less your own. When I see that my husband’s black-as-coal sideburns are now flecked with gray, I feel overwhelming tenderness for him and connect on the spot with his vulnerability. (btw, I may have an entire head of gray hair, but since I’ve been dyeing my hair every color in the rainbow since I was about 16, I would have no clue.) I see his aging and death unfurl before us and I feel a sock to the gut. And forget about my own aging. I can hardly bear to look at myself in the mirror. When I catch a glimpse, I wonder who is that middle-aged lady and then I look again and by some optic trick, re-image myself as someone I recognize/want to be, someone youthful and smooth. It’s almost like some inner terror gets its hands on the lens and refocuses me into a more pleasing visage. It’s weird. Aging is painful for everyone, but for Westerners and women, I think we make it especially hard on ourselves. Worship of youth culture and whatnot. So that is extremely difficult.
As far as the marooned on a desert island question—I get three things?! Excellent! I would like the words of my teacher, my husband, and lots and lots of paper and pens. We could scrounge for bottles to stick our missives in, toss them into the big blue sea and hope they end up where they’re supposed to go. Hey, that’s not too different than what I do in my non-desert island life. Weird.
Thanks, Angela
And if you, dear reader, would like to suggest a topic/ask a question, let’s do this thing. Email me or post in comments.
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5 Comments
Susan, thank you so much for sharing your personal experience with aging. I recently hosted a surprise 50th birthday party for my brother. Nobody was more surprised than I when mom e-mailed me the pictures. The skin on my face really IS sagging. Whose ass IS that? And who took the damn picture of my ass, anyway? I have been a bit down ever since. I am 47. My sister is 45. We all look so incredibly old. I sit at a bar and I don’t understand why the cute 24-year-old men look right through me. I used to be hot. I still feel hot. It is a very painful process at times. I wonder if you know how much it helps when somone as beautiful as you shares your struggles, which in turn inspires all of us to come together in misery! So much better than going it alone.
Susan,
Thanks as always for getting to the tender spot: I was curious to hear what your answer would be ie; “the hardest lesson” and there it was…aging. My own aging seems to have taken me by surprise, as if I was going to be thirty-seven forever, (my magic number), smooth, supple. Having my second child @ 41 kept me “in the zone” of youthfulness for a bit longer but now @ 52, I’m learning to love my own face in the mirror, often not succeeding. This, in itself, feels sad to me. There’s a kid’s book where a pig starts every day by looking in the mirror and saying, Hey Good-Looking!” I’m trying that.
Add to the mix, my 84 yr. “young” father living with us for almost a year and each day is a swirl of tenderness, vulnerability, fear, laughter, and yes, some days, loathing? He is here to show me how to do this “aging thing” gracefully, but still, I resist. Therein lies the suffering.
Across the country, my 85 yr. young mother-in-law shouts into the phone, “Elizabeth, 52?! You’re a spring chicken!” and reminds me to be thankful to be right where I am.
I’ve been reading about Chinese Traditional Medicine and the concept of women coming into their Second Spring, something to be celebrated and honored…a time for us to delight in, not to despise.
I am slow to embrace this, still clinging to my First Spring…I could go on, this feels so timely, but for now, thank you for your voice in the world.
Thanks for your huge honesty, Susan. Know of what you speak. Sometimes I look to my Mediterranean background for alternate views of aging…the Italian matriarch, of course the French–Francoise Hardy, etc. Doing that still doesn’t address the vulnerability that comes with aging.
I was struck by Lewis Richmond’s words in the latest Shambhala Sun: “..then the frequency of hospital visits and funerals slowly starts to pick up speed, like a drumbeat in the jungle.”
Another reason I like much (at least 10 year older) men! Gotta be a boomer. 😀 No dudes for me. How’s that for, uh, dealing with it?
Hope your Atlanta visit was wonderful.
Thanks Susan, for your honest, forthright, and timely answer to my question(s). It was not the answer I was expecting. (not the desert island thing, though I thought you might want Burning Spear along. The other question…). You have touched on one of the most bittersweet aspects of our embodied lives – the transitory nature of our time with ourselves and with loved ones. I used to work as an assistant to a retina surgeon – most of our patients were elderly, in poor health, and facing the potential for loss of some or all of their vision. And all the associated life changes that would entail. The think I liked about my job is that my boss and I had time to talk to these folks – what’s your secret to such a long life? If you had one thing in life to do over, what would it be? What’s the bravest thing you’ve done in your life? etc. etc. To a person, all of these folks would tell us that, while they looked 70 or 80 or 108 (yes, 108 years old!) on the outside, on the inside they were still teenagers. Or 30 year olds. Or whatever stage of their life held the most appeal to them. And… from working with them through their treatments and follow-up visits, I was able to see this – I could past their wrinkles and canes and hearing aids and see (and be amazed by!) their true nature. So, when I become saddened by the thought of time passing and people aging and not being around forever, I try to remember that part of each of us that does not age, and does not die.
Thanks again for your post, Susan. You’re an amazing teacher and writer. Hope our paths cross again sometime soon…
Been thinking about this ever since yesterday and reading the other comments which are always so helpful and expand the conversation. I just had to follow-up from Angela’s comment because my father, the 84 yr. “young” Dad, is probably one of the happiest people I know. No grumpy old man here. He takes each day as a gift, laughs more than the rest of us, and has an inner spark that reminds me of the Dad who took us all camping when we were kids, pushed me up hills on my bike, etc/ He is blind in one eye, walks slow slow slow, but gets out to walk every day, does his yoga, meditates. He talks about death like “dropping the overcoat”, that he is NOT his body. So, in spite of the sadness and fear of the unknown and inevitable loss (this is what I steel myself against)…Angela is right. There’s a light on inside of each of us. Looking past the mirror will be my practice today. I don’t do it to others, “oh, you’re so old!”, than why myself? (I know I already commented…but this has brought on an avalanche of thought.) Blessings to everyone.