I haven’t even finished reading this but just have to comment immediately on how this resonates with me (I am 65). Obviously I never made my living out of fashion and image in the way you have, but I still feel that tension between authenticity and performance. I know I will read and re-read this. I feel deeply moved by your clarity and the skill in the writing coupled with the new thinking and ideas you are exploring here. Bravo.
Thank you for writing this piece. It could not have come to me at a better time. My very best friend (for almost 50 years) sent me pictures of herself yesterday. She had had a full face job, which somehow was not fully surprising as it had been in her mind for a while. Still, the news shook me to my core. Not only because of the self-inflicted violence that the procedure entailed (the photos are painful to see) or for the lack of trust that the secret procedure meant to our friendship, but mostly because of how it made me feel: old(er), ugli(er), sad, jealous perhaps? to the point that I was grateful that we don't see each other much because she lives in Argentina and I am in LA. I am still processing your words but they helped me regain my balance a little bit. Thanks again.
We moved so much when I was young that I became afraid to make new friends. Still, something about me attracted people to me only to lose still more friends.
I think having to say goodbye to so many at an early age, feeling as though they'd all died, I turned old in my brain. I shied away from friendships and then, suddenly, I woke up.
In 1969 I was drafted into the Army. I'd moved back to Detroit, my hometown, and had to make the hard decision whether to cross the Ambassador Bridge to Windsor, Canada, or risk going to Vietnam.
I put my country first, grudgingly, but there was so much I still wanted to see, feel, and do.
I was sent to Vietnam. By the grace of the gods they needed a typist at the transfer station where men were sent out to the various killing fields.
Being in the Army brought me out of my shell. It brought out my sense of humor so I joyfully entertained the troops just to take them to a safe place. American men are quite good when you show them you care about their feelings and well being.
Coming home was a different story. Too many people considered us all baby killers. That put me back in my shell.
I did find ways out but couldn't let go of resentment.
Now I'm 77. Because of circumstances beyond my control I wound up being one of those veterans living in a car. In 2022, the California heatwave nearly killed me. My best friend drove me to Veterans Hospital where I remained until January 4 th. Three days after release the VA set me up in Veterans Village where I stayed until July 8th. They'd found me a Section 8 apartment for the elderly and disabled in a beautiful neighborhood.
Once again I've come far enough out of my shell and no longer hate being old. I'm the first to open up to strangers on the sidewalks and they're friendly in return.
In the end, since I've been trying to write the strange story of my life and failing at every attempt, I realize that if I don't get busy my story will never be told.
Your story started with the words you just wrote. We are both’Nam vets. I was inn military 1968. Saw friends depart. I found solace acting in a few short plays performed on an isolated base in the arctic circle. If you have a spiral binders start there. One story I wrote while in Maine this summer just happened after I took a walk into an over grown park. I just wrote from the heart what I saw and let the words just flow with out worrying about punctuation. You can edit later. Messolongskee Stream is my substack. Keep writing. You made it this far and there must be a reason for that. Thanks for your vision.
Thank you for your comment. I'm just getting into setting up for my writing. I hate trying to read the screen on my laptop. A friend gave me a monitor. It was great until I bumped the table. Now the monitor comes on and turns right off. Another friend gave me a nice Canon printer. It worked until Canon instructed me to register it. That's when the printer stopped working. I type 110 words per minute. Having to communicate on my phone is frustrating! I just keep my patience while I wait for the opportunity to purchase my own equipment. I'm just happy to have a roof over my head after two years in my car.
Yes a roof over head is stability. I believe you just need a note book/ pad of paper to continue a few stories you encountered living in your car. I write from my phone. Stories get forgotten. Find a few pencils and a sharpener to scribble your words down even if just for your own amusement. Treat yourself to the task and pleasure of writing. Don’t wait for wily coyote’s acme anvil to fall out of the sky and hit you on the head. But if that happened, as cartoon characters do, get back up and continue to make people laugh. You’ll be amused at yourself.
Oh, I don't let myself feel threatened by anything. I've always had the patience of a Saint. I just don't know which one.
Every couple of hours I go out of my new apartment, push my walker down the sidewalk, pull into a side patch, sit down facing the sidewalk, light a cig, and greet folks going by. I've never been open like that. It's a wonderful new experience for this old fart. The response has been great. No need to get a job at Walmart. I've labeled myself 'The Sidewalk Greeter'. I prefer change above tradition. I tell folks you can't change the past but you can influence the future.
I'm very pleased that you've joined me in conversation. I've lived here for more than 20 years and have allowed myself 3 close friends and few acquaintances. Expansion is a nice feeling.
That’s about right with friends. Trust and unconditional love. My Air Force buddy from 50 yrs ago I wanted to visit him in June. We talked and text. Then his phone disconnected. He’d just moved into a church he refurbished and landscaped. Then he just disappeared. No word. He was recovering from cancer of lungs. I can’t make contact. Don’t know alive or dead.
Frustration. I think a story entitled The Sidewalk Greeter” must be written. I await your publication. I’m finishing, refining my story Innuendos. That’s one of my projects.
I had a best friend in Vietnam. He was out in the field and occasionally came back to the transferring point where I worked in an air conditioned office. We shared a crazy sense of humor. I felt safe with him. We became so close that when we were released to come back to the states we weren't ready to part yet. We hitchhiked. He got out in Oklahoma to go home to Kansas. We both had tears running down our faces. We hugged and our driver went on with just me. I have not been able to locate him since. I still consider him the best friend ever and miss him to this day.
I created a place in my email with the name you mentioned starting with mess... . I thought I'd transferred our conversations there but when I went to look it up I got a message that there were no emails available. Luckily they're all in the place I save Ms. Slater's posts. For a minute I thought you'd disappeared like both of our friends from Vietnam had. Whew!
Yes, I saw about the Michigan win. Love it! Before I was drafted in '69, the Tigers won the World Series. It was rush hour. Everybody had to leave their cars in the streets and go celebrate. It was amazing good fun.
My friend ani I got discharged in NY. Ended up i got my car that still ran and drove to Mass. we stayed then decided to drive to California. Cross country in a VW van. He stayed to swim in ocean have a few beers and flew back to Mass. we stayed in touch. Until recently. He even married my ex girlfriend, but got divorced. Life tosses you cookies and you eat some but the chocolate chips fall as they will and melt. Another batch of cookies is made, a little bit different and another woman enter the scene. They keep appearing as in a wedding vow ‘til death do us part’ . Tough to live life, leave a wife, friends, family. But you I know have more stories to tell with endless endings yet to be told. I glad to be writing you. There’s few of ‘Nam vets left. We all have stories yet to be told.
I know that I have to be firm on getting my writing done. I have a lifetime of PTSD events I need to get off my chest. War isn't the only source nor are one's own mistakes. I'm clear on what has caused my own and realize that others must claim their own.
I cannot blame anyone for my mistakes. Unfortunately, too many don't take on that responsibility. Choice is personal, like voting, religion, and to whom you express your love. Americans have become a nightmare of trying to control the lives of others. I refuse to bend. I've made it this far on my own choices. I like it like that.
Are you still in California? Except for the extremely high cost of living, I feel safer here.
Yes in La la land. Got a room with a backyard view of a chain link fence dog run and loaned orange tree with Vitamin C. Yep. Choices we make are ours. Think, will, act. I’ve learned finally over the years. You in Kansas?
Thank you for such a thought provoking piece. I'm 72 years old and much
of it resonates. I'm healthy and active and grateful for that at my age! As I read your article I was pondering and asking out loud. "Am I old"? In the English language we ask someone's age by sayin"How old are you"? So one is already old as a child!
I was raised in a culture where being'old' was an advantage not a disadvantage. Elders are respected.In the West being old has connotations of being less than . As you say the emphasis is on youth and productivity but I think the tide is turning. I did not have the same dilemma that you had of appearing well put together but not tuning in to the person under the stylish garments . But it took me 2 years to stop dyeing my hair and let the grey shine through. Everyday I had doubts . Now I'm fully grey I wonder why I didn't do it earlier. It suits me and I'm saving all that money that was washed down the drain every six weeks .I think we should use the comparison of a wine getting better with age.The bloom and precociousness has settled into an elegant softness.😊
I am a 55-yo professor; your words are beautiful and are revolving in my head like strands of DNA, helixing and twisting. So much weight in these matters of weight, embodiment, arrangements of tissue, muscle, collagen. So much weight in our corporeal realities ~ death for all of us, no dispensations for whether we were 'good girls' or 'thin enough' or 'youthful looking.' No dispensations for being smart, for exercising, for trying to be mindful. Just our dailyness, our breathing, stumbling, breathlessness, joy, bleakness, and living. We aren't generally well-mentored into our aliveness, but your writing today has mentored me into my current living moment. Thank you.
Spot-on observations and analysis. Societal focus on youth aside (which is not at all inconsequential, for sure), part of the challenge to joyously imagining our future “old” self is a tendency to shield ourselves from the inevitable ending -- which, when we allow ourselves to imagine it, is influenced by what our own elders experienced on their way there. It can be painful and lingering, or sudden with little suffering, or anywhere in between. It’s a stark realization that we have maybe 10, 20, or 30 years left and little control over when and how we go. But yes! We must love and accept ourselves *As We Are Now* lest we waste these years mourning what we’ve lost rather than celebrating what we still have and can do. It’s a conundrum I wrestle with every day.
A lot of us old blisters like to joke about getting old and buying the mortgage on the farm.
When my Ma was in hospice dying of cancer she told me to cry for her now and enjoy the rest of my life. I cried like a baby right then and there. When she passed away I took her advice and not only enjoyed my life but took all the blows for my mistaked. What else can we do?
I love this missive. Growing old is a gift, because we all know someone who didn’t. The changes that occur can be startling, there is that. Hopefully no pain is associated with it. I think I enjoy sewing and fashion now more than I ever did when I was younger. I found your perspective very uplifting.
I'll turn 70 this year. So we are similar in age. I also had a life (briefly) in college teaching-- philosophy and religion for me. Fashion has been my passion throughout, though I have always done it in a small way compared to your life as Accidental Icon. Now I find great physical health through the twice/day yoga practice I started on my 63rd birthday. I guess everything kind of harmonizes together and ultimately balances out. ? Thank you, Lyn, for sharing with us here via your "How To Be Old"! I feel a certain companionship with you.
I started yoga five years ago after years of "hard" workouts. I was astonished at how it transformed my body (similar to those workouts) and my mind (which those workouts never gave me). My older body appreciates these lower-impact sessions. I don't really miss those hard-hitting days. Been there, done that. Keep up the great work. :)
Oh how I can relate to so much of this, being almost 72, a former clothing designer ( for children....I avoided “fashion” on purpose), widowed at 52 after caring for my rapidly declining, much loved, husband, and destaining the extra pounds that no one else seems to notice....and now loving my total freedom, my art room, my braless-ness, and my travels to spend time with my grand children. Thank you for writing your book. I can’t wait to read it.
We live close by. Maybe someday we will meet and share the joys of “becoming old”.
Oy! At 66 I’m struggling to look into the future without fear. I exercise regularly but my spine speaks to me daily. I worry what it is going to feel like 5 years, 10 years, 20 years from now. I appreciate your wisdom from a little further down the road. ❤️
Everything you say here rings true to my 71 year old self. Still struggling to accept my age. Your writing gives me a nudge toward reality, present and future. People are constantly telling me that they can’t believe how old am. I’m wondering as I write this how much longer I will work at maintaining the illusion of relative youth.
I'll be 78 on April Fool's Day. I've hated that birthday since childhood.
Don't worry what others might think about your aging. We can't stop the clock until our hearts stop beating. I love being old. What's not to love? We don't have to go through much more nonsense. We can't change the past so let the youngers fix, or not, the present and future. Considering what we have gone through we've made wonderful changes and horrible mistakes. Now we must keep our spirits up, meditate our aches away, and feel what's left of the youth in our bodies. I have to use a walker to get around. When I encounter others using walkers I say, "Wanna race? " Their faces light up, we don't race, and all's well that ends well.
Thank you for this. I'm a 33 year old woman, and the aging panic has really crept up on me (though in some ways it's been here since I turned 17, and I think it's getting worse with younger girls -- my Gen Z sister has some real horror stories). It's incredible how deep it goes -- I'm so terrified of not being a Hot Young Thing anymore (even though I know this comes from societal pressure I don't respect, blah blah). I surveil myself and my place in the world (Taylor Swift is 34!!! And she's still hot and beloved!!!! So it's still possible for me!!!!!!!!) obsessively, but even when I meet my own expectations, I don't enjoy it -- it's very, "Sure, I don't have any wrinkles -- YET!!!!" But it isn't about -- or just about -- getting sexual attention so much as it is a fear of becoming culturally illegible and embarrassing. Like, I often feel this abstract pressure to stop being kind of weirdo -- a pretty big part of who I am -- because, well, that's sort of okay when you're a Hot Young Thing and you can be The Geek Babe Who Works At The Comic Shop, but it's deeply cringe when you're in the category of "potentially someone's mom." I feel like my cultural meaning is draining away, in the face of how much everyone loves sneering at middle-aged women.
So I seek out work by older women. And so much of it is wonderful, but I'm bothered by how much of it can be based on a steadfast blindness towards, well, aging. A lot of it feels like "Look, you can still be a healthy, active athlete! And you'll never be a Hot Young Thing again, but you don't have to be a dumpy mom!" There's still these core fears in play. And right now, my dad is dealing with cancer. He's lived an extraordinarily healthy life and is relatively young, and it didn't matter. Sometimes aging means you can't be that active, healthy athlete anymore. That might very well happen, and if your self-worth depended on being totally able-bodied -- well, better accept it. And then I think of my grandma, who was a fashion plate living off baby carrots when she was younger -- and she always told us that the happiest years of her life were the last 20, which she spent as a fat, braless, rarely-putting-her-dentures-in abuela with her granddaughters.
I don't want to run away from those facts. Aging will be hard. I will lose things. I will gain things. I might become ill. I will absolutely, 100% stop being hot in the agreed-upon sense. It's life. And it's surprisingly hard to find work that really, truly engages with all of that. Thank you for looking it square in the face.
Everything about this is why I write about being old. Thank you, Thank you for this comment. In some ways us older women (at least the ones who follow me) are ok. They (we) have figured out how to be aspirational AND realistic.
Mirrors are but reflection. Who’s the fairest in the land? Cracks in the skin that sag’s with gravity’s grip tugging at jeans (gene’s) to keep you grounded. I’m almost an octogenarian, but like the octopus with eight arms I still juggle a glass of wine with friends, dine and garden, appreciate floral beauty, stay active is one key to maintain sanity; do yoga to relieve aches and meditate in wee hours predawn to see where I am going. Everything in moderation. I look forward to over 100 and wanting a flying deLorian car. But only if not incapacitated. Then the mirrors cracked . Time to ask the spirit guide to decide goodbye to loves won and lost.
For me, it is simply being active outdoors, a vegetarian diet, cut back on drinking wine, getting a good night's sleep. As I age, I take in the wonder and adjust. PS I love leggings! lol
So appreciate this thoughtful piece that will be a vehicle for reflection and journalling for me. I am 65 and have written a vision of what I want to be at 75. I will continue to refine this but for now it is: active, abundant (satisfied and grateful for what I have) adaptable (to the challenges and changes) attitude - positive and focused on simplicity and acceptance- of myself and others. We shall see . . .
Wow.
I haven’t even finished reading this but just have to comment immediately on how this resonates with me (I am 65). Obviously I never made my living out of fashion and image in the way you have, but I still feel that tension between authenticity and performance. I know I will read and re-read this. I feel deeply moved by your clarity and the skill in the writing coupled with the new thinking and ideas you are exploring here. Bravo.
Thank you for writing this piece. It could not have come to me at a better time. My very best friend (for almost 50 years) sent me pictures of herself yesterday. She had had a full face job, which somehow was not fully surprising as it had been in her mind for a while. Still, the news shook me to my core. Not only because of the self-inflicted violence that the procedure entailed (the photos are painful to see) or for the lack of trust that the secret procedure meant to our friendship, but mostly because of how it made me feel: old(er), ugli(er), sad, jealous perhaps? to the point that I was grateful that we don't see each other much because she lives in Argentina and I am in LA. I am still processing your words but they helped me regain my balance a little bit. Thanks again.
We moved so much when I was young that I became afraid to make new friends. Still, something about me attracted people to me only to lose still more friends.
I think having to say goodbye to so many at an early age, feeling as though they'd all died, I turned old in my brain. I shied away from friendships and then, suddenly, I woke up.
In 1969 I was drafted into the Army. I'd moved back to Detroit, my hometown, and had to make the hard decision whether to cross the Ambassador Bridge to Windsor, Canada, or risk going to Vietnam.
I put my country first, grudgingly, but there was so much I still wanted to see, feel, and do.
I was sent to Vietnam. By the grace of the gods they needed a typist at the transfer station where men were sent out to the various killing fields.
Being in the Army brought me out of my shell. It brought out my sense of humor so I joyfully entertained the troops just to take them to a safe place. American men are quite good when you show them you care about their feelings and well being.
Coming home was a different story. Too many people considered us all baby killers. That put me back in my shell.
I did find ways out but couldn't let go of resentment.
Now I'm 77. Because of circumstances beyond my control I wound up being one of those veterans living in a car. In 2022, the California heatwave nearly killed me. My best friend drove me to Veterans Hospital where I remained until January 4 th. Three days after release the VA set me up in Veterans Village where I stayed until July 8th. They'd found me a Section 8 apartment for the elderly and disabled in a beautiful neighborhood.
Once again I've come far enough out of my shell and no longer hate being old. I'm the first to open up to strangers on the sidewalks and they're friendly in return.
In the end, since I've been trying to write the strange story of my life and failing at every attempt, I realize that if I don't get busy my story will never be told.
Your story started with the words you just wrote. We are both’Nam vets. I was inn military 1968. Saw friends depart. I found solace acting in a few short plays performed on an isolated base in the arctic circle. If you have a spiral binders start there. One story I wrote while in Maine this summer just happened after I took a walk into an over grown park. I just wrote from the heart what I saw and let the words just flow with out worrying about punctuation. You can edit later. Messolongskee Stream is my substack. Keep writing. You made it this far and there must be a reason for that. Thanks for your vision.
Thank you for your comment. I'm just getting into setting up for my writing. I hate trying to read the screen on my laptop. A friend gave me a monitor. It was great until I bumped the table. Now the monitor comes on and turns right off. Another friend gave me a nice Canon printer. It worked until Canon instructed me to register it. That's when the printer stopped working. I type 110 words per minute. Having to communicate on my phone is frustrating! I just keep my patience while I wait for the opportunity to purchase my own equipment. I'm just happy to have a roof over my head after two years in my car.
Yes a roof over head is stability. I believe you just need a note book/ pad of paper to continue a few stories you encountered living in your car. I write from my phone. Stories get forgotten. Find a few pencils and a sharpener to scribble your words down even if just for your own amusement. Treat yourself to the task and pleasure of writing. Don’t wait for wily coyote’s acme anvil to fall out of the sky and hit you on the head. But if that happened, as cartoon characters do, get back up and continue to make people laugh. You’ll be amused at yourself.
Oh, I don't let myself feel threatened by anything. I've always had the patience of a Saint. I just don't know which one.
Every couple of hours I go out of my new apartment, push my walker down the sidewalk, pull into a side patch, sit down facing the sidewalk, light a cig, and greet folks going by. I've never been open like that. It's a wonderful new experience for this old fart. The response has been great. No need to get a job at Walmart. I've labeled myself 'The Sidewalk Greeter'. I prefer change above tradition. I tell folks you can't change the past but you can influence the future.
I'm very pleased that you've joined me in conversation. I've lived here for more than 20 years and have allowed myself 3 close friends and few acquaintances. Expansion is a nice feeling.
That’s about right with friends. Trust and unconditional love. My Air Force buddy from 50 yrs ago I wanted to visit him in June. We talked and text. Then his phone disconnected. He’d just moved into a church he refurbished and landscaped. Then he just disappeared. No word. He was recovering from cancer of lungs. I can’t make contact. Don’t know alive or dead.
Frustration. I think a story entitled The Sidewalk Greeter” must be written. I await your publication. I’m finishing, refining my story Innuendos. That’s one of my projects.
I had a best friend in Vietnam. He was out in the field and occasionally came back to the transferring point where I worked in an air conditioned office. We shared a crazy sense of humor. I felt safe with him. We became so close that when we were released to come back to the states we weren't ready to part yet. We hitchhiked. He got out in Oklahoma to go home to Kansas. We both had tears running down our faces. We hugged and our driver went on with just me. I have not been able to locate him since. I still consider him the best friend ever and miss him to this day.
Or maybe it is Michigan. Did you see college championship game. Michigan wears the Crown Jewels this year whooping Washington.
BTW, my email address is sdfrenchierl@yahoo.com. I guess we shouldn't be taking up so much space on Ms. Slater's post.
Thank you! I was trying to find a way to be gracious about suggesting that as I am very happy that the two of you found such a good connection here!
Thanks to you ms Slater. Many apologies.
I created a place in my email with the name you mentioned starting with mess... . I thought I'd transferred our conversations there but when I went to look it up I got a message that there were no emails available. Luckily they're all in the place I save Ms. Slater's posts. For a minute I thought you'd disappeared like both of our friends from Vietnam had. Whew!
Yes, I saw about the Michigan win. Love it! Before I was drafted in '69, the Tigers won the World Series. It was rush hour. Everybody had to leave their cars in the streets and go celebrate. It was amazing good fun.
My friend ani I got discharged in NY. Ended up i got my car that still ran and drove to Mass. we stayed then decided to drive to California. Cross country in a VW van. He stayed to swim in ocean have a few beers and flew back to Mass. we stayed in touch. Until recently. He even married my ex girlfriend, but got divorced. Life tosses you cookies and you eat some but the chocolate chips fall as they will and melt. Another batch of cookies is made, a little bit different and another woman enter the scene. They keep appearing as in a wedding vow ‘til death do us part’ . Tough to live life, leave a wife, friends, family. But you I know have more stories to tell with endless endings yet to be told. I glad to be writing you. There’s few of ‘Nam vets left. We all have stories yet to be told.
I know that I have to be firm on getting my writing done. I have a lifetime of PTSD events I need to get off my chest. War isn't the only source nor are one's own mistakes. I'm clear on what has caused my own and realize that others must claim their own.
I cannot blame anyone for my mistakes. Unfortunately, too many don't take on that responsibility. Choice is personal, like voting, religion, and to whom you express your love. Americans have become a nightmare of trying to control the lives of others. I refuse to bend. I've made it this far on my own choices. I like it like that.
Are you still in California? Except for the extremely high cost of living, I feel safer here.
Yes in La la land. Got a room with a backyard view of a chain link fence dog run and loaned orange tree with Vitamin C. Yep. Choices we make are ours. Think, will, act. I’ve learned finally over the years. You in Kansas?
Richards, you two are making me cry. This conversation itself would make a great book. 🧡🩷
Lyn, thank you for this piece of writing. I needed it.
Thank you for such a thought provoking piece. I'm 72 years old and much
of it resonates. I'm healthy and active and grateful for that at my age! As I read your article I was pondering and asking out loud. "Am I old"? In the English language we ask someone's age by sayin"How old are you"? So one is already old as a child!
I was raised in a culture where being'old' was an advantage not a disadvantage. Elders are respected.In the West being old has connotations of being less than . As you say the emphasis is on youth and productivity but I think the tide is turning. I did not have the same dilemma that you had of appearing well put together but not tuning in to the person under the stylish garments . But it took me 2 years to stop dyeing my hair and let the grey shine through. Everyday I had doubts . Now I'm fully grey I wonder why I didn't do it earlier. It suits me and I'm saving all that money that was washed down the drain every six weeks .I think we should use the comparison of a wine getting better with age.The bloom and precociousness has settled into an elegant softness.😊
I am a 55-yo professor; your words are beautiful and are revolving in my head like strands of DNA, helixing and twisting. So much weight in these matters of weight, embodiment, arrangements of tissue, muscle, collagen. So much weight in our corporeal realities ~ death for all of us, no dispensations for whether we were 'good girls' or 'thin enough' or 'youthful looking.' No dispensations for being smart, for exercising, for trying to be mindful. Just our dailyness, our breathing, stumbling, breathlessness, joy, bleakness, and living. We aren't generally well-mentored into our aliveness, but your writing today has mentored me into my current living moment. Thank you.
I love the way you write. Thank you.
Oh! Thank you!
You're welcome.
Spot-on observations and analysis. Societal focus on youth aside (which is not at all inconsequential, for sure), part of the challenge to joyously imagining our future “old” self is a tendency to shield ourselves from the inevitable ending -- which, when we allow ourselves to imagine it, is influenced by what our own elders experienced on their way there. It can be painful and lingering, or sudden with little suffering, or anywhere in between. It’s a stark realization that we have maybe 10, 20, or 30 years left and little control over when and how we go. But yes! We must love and accept ourselves *As We Are Now* lest we waste these years mourning what we’ve lost rather than celebrating what we still have and can do. It’s a conundrum I wrestle with every day.
A lot of us old blisters like to joke about getting old and buying the mortgage on the farm.
When my Ma was in hospice dying of cancer she told me to cry for her now and enjoy the rest of my life. I cried like a baby right then and there. When she passed away I took her advice and not only enjoyed my life but took all the blows for my mistaked. What else can we do?
I love this missive. Growing old is a gift, because we all know someone who didn’t. The changes that occur can be startling, there is that. Hopefully no pain is associated with it. I think I enjoy sewing and fashion now more than I ever did when I was younger. I found your perspective very uplifting.
I'll turn 70 this year. So we are similar in age. I also had a life (briefly) in college teaching-- philosophy and religion for me. Fashion has been my passion throughout, though I have always done it in a small way compared to your life as Accidental Icon. Now I find great physical health through the twice/day yoga practice I started on my 63rd birthday. I guess everything kind of harmonizes together and ultimately balances out. ? Thank you, Lyn, for sharing with us here via your "How To Be Old"! I feel a certain companionship with you.
I started yoga five years ago after years of "hard" workouts. I was astonished at how it transformed my body (similar to those workouts) and my mind (which those workouts never gave me). My older body appreciates these lower-impact sessions. I don't really miss those hard-hitting days. Been there, done that. Keep up the great work. :)
Oh how I can relate to so much of this, being almost 72, a former clothing designer ( for children....I avoided “fashion” on purpose), widowed at 52 after caring for my rapidly declining, much loved, husband, and destaining the extra pounds that no one else seems to notice....and now loving my total freedom, my art room, my braless-ness, and my travels to spend time with my grand children. Thank you for writing your book. I can’t wait to read it.
We live close by. Maybe someday we will meet and share the joys of “becoming old”.
Oy! At 66 I’m struggling to look into the future without fear. I exercise regularly but my spine speaks to me daily. I worry what it is going to feel like 5 years, 10 years, 20 years from now. I appreciate your wisdom from a little further down the road. ❤️
Try going to a chiropractor. Your chakras might be out of line. Seeing a chiropractor could save operations in future.
Everything you say here rings true to my 71 year old self. Still struggling to accept my age. Your writing gives me a nudge toward reality, present and future. People are constantly telling me that they can’t believe how old am. I’m wondering as I write this how much longer I will work at maintaining the illusion of relative youth.
I'll be 78 on April Fool's Day. I've hated that birthday since childhood.
Don't worry what others might think about your aging. We can't stop the clock until our hearts stop beating. I love being old. What's not to love? We don't have to go through much more nonsense. We can't change the past so let the youngers fix, or not, the present and future. Considering what we have gone through we've made wonderful changes and horrible mistakes. Now we must keep our spirits up, meditate our aches away, and feel what's left of the youth in our bodies. I have to use a walker to get around. When I encounter others using walkers I say, "Wanna race? " Their faces light up, we don't race, and all's well that ends well.
Thank you for this. I'm a 33 year old woman, and the aging panic has really crept up on me (though in some ways it's been here since I turned 17, and I think it's getting worse with younger girls -- my Gen Z sister has some real horror stories). It's incredible how deep it goes -- I'm so terrified of not being a Hot Young Thing anymore (even though I know this comes from societal pressure I don't respect, blah blah). I surveil myself and my place in the world (Taylor Swift is 34!!! And she's still hot and beloved!!!! So it's still possible for me!!!!!!!!) obsessively, but even when I meet my own expectations, I don't enjoy it -- it's very, "Sure, I don't have any wrinkles -- YET!!!!" But it isn't about -- or just about -- getting sexual attention so much as it is a fear of becoming culturally illegible and embarrassing. Like, I often feel this abstract pressure to stop being kind of weirdo -- a pretty big part of who I am -- because, well, that's sort of okay when you're a Hot Young Thing and you can be The Geek Babe Who Works At The Comic Shop, but it's deeply cringe when you're in the category of "potentially someone's mom." I feel like my cultural meaning is draining away, in the face of how much everyone loves sneering at middle-aged women.
So I seek out work by older women. And so much of it is wonderful, but I'm bothered by how much of it can be based on a steadfast blindness towards, well, aging. A lot of it feels like "Look, you can still be a healthy, active athlete! And you'll never be a Hot Young Thing again, but you don't have to be a dumpy mom!" There's still these core fears in play. And right now, my dad is dealing with cancer. He's lived an extraordinarily healthy life and is relatively young, and it didn't matter. Sometimes aging means you can't be that active, healthy athlete anymore. That might very well happen, and if your self-worth depended on being totally able-bodied -- well, better accept it. And then I think of my grandma, who was a fashion plate living off baby carrots when she was younger -- and she always told us that the happiest years of her life were the last 20, which she spent as a fat, braless, rarely-putting-her-dentures-in abuela with her granddaughters.
I don't want to run away from those facts. Aging will be hard. I will lose things. I will gain things. I might become ill. I will absolutely, 100% stop being hot in the agreed-upon sense. It's life. And it's surprisingly hard to find work that really, truly engages with all of that. Thank you for looking it square in the face.
Everything about this is why I write about being old. Thank you, Thank you for this comment. In some ways us older women (at least the ones who follow me) are ok. They (we) have figured out how to be aspirational AND realistic.
It’s important that we can support you!
another wow. i need to come back to this to fully digest. so much resonates with my continuing life.
Mirrors are but reflection. Who’s the fairest in the land? Cracks in the skin that sag’s with gravity’s grip tugging at jeans (gene’s) to keep you grounded. I’m almost an octogenarian, but like the octopus with eight arms I still juggle a glass of wine with friends, dine and garden, appreciate floral beauty, stay active is one key to maintain sanity; do yoga to relieve aches and meditate in wee hours predawn to see where I am going. Everything in moderation. I look forward to over 100 and wanting a flying deLorian car. But only if not incapacitated. Then the mirrors cracked . Time to ask the spirit guide to decide goodbye to loves won and lost.
For me, it is simply being active outdoors, a vegetarian diet, cut back on drinking wine, getting a good night's sleep. As I age, I take in the wonder and adjust. PS I love leggings! lol
So appreciate this thoughtful piece that will be a vehicle for reflection and journalling for me. I am 65 and have written a vision of what I want to be at 75. I will continue to refine this but for now it is: active, abundant (satisfied and grateful for what I have) adaptable (to the challenges and changes) attitude - positive and focused on simplicity and acceptance- of myself and others. We shall see . . .