If you haven’t yet reached your “golden years” don’t let the current hype about the joys of retirement fool you. They are not the best of times. It’s just that the alternative is even worse. I am a 72-year-old widower with three grown and successful children and three adorable grandchildren. I’ve had a fulfilling career as a psychologist, I’m in good health and financially secure, active in community affairs. I live comfortably in a well-planned retirement community. But I’m growing old and hating it. Not hate in a mentally corrosive manner, but with the realization that it is all downhill from here no matter how hard I try to maintain an upbeat attitude.
My close friends and neighbors are equally proud of their past achievements and fortunate in their present comfortable status. Ironically, those of us who have had the most success in our productive years are probably the ones who most miss the joys of earlier accomplishments. In my opinion, any retiree over 65 who claims to be happy–or even content-with his or her present condition either is lying or forgetting the past or belongs to a very fortunate minority.
Those of us who are over 65 now make up 13 percent of the American population and are increasing in number faster than any other age segment in the country. We are the target of two contrasting reactions on the part of the rest of the population. Old age is viewed negatively by most younger people. Who wants to be reminded that this is what they are going to look like in later life? On the other hand, we are envied for being beyond the daily rat race.
Advertisers trying to capture the growing market of affluent senior citizens only underscore some of the problems of aging. On TV, June Allyson sweetly assures her viewers about the joys of hugging their friends again while wearing protective undergarments. Or when immediate assistance is promised after “I’ve fallen and I can’t get up”-as long as you’re wearing a radio transmitter. Don’t let the ads deceive you into believing that all can be put right. Nothing takes the place of being young and vigorous, with one’s faculties still intact.
I, and my friends, reminisce a lot about the good old days. It feels better than dealing with the present. Embedded in this anodyne of nostalgia is the specter of our current condition, individually and as members of the human race.
On a personal level, getting up in the morning is a mixed blessing. It’s reassuring to know that I’m still alive, but the days inexorably tick off on the calendar in my mind. Yesterday another of my close friends was taken to the hospital with a serious illness. Almost every day, I myself feel a new twinge here or an ache there and I begin to worry about what will be revealed when I take my annual physical next week. It is truly a winter of discontent, with no better forecast in sight.
The larger scene is no more encouraging. What with the many problems in the world, from the devastating impact of the AIDS epidemic to the fragile stability of governments all over the world, there is little comfort in knowing these current issues are more of a concern for our progeny than for ourselves.
My retirement community, located in the outskirts of a university town in North Carolina, is a case study of the trials and tribulations that come with growing old even under the best of circumstances. The 380 residents are an elite group, retired deans and professors from major universities, former senior executives from prestigious corporations, even a Nobel laureate. But the average age is 76 (ranging from the early 60s into the middle 90s). Twenty percent of the residents have serious physical ailments, including Alzheimer’s disease, heart conditions, impairments from stroke or other neurologic illnesses. This includes others who have less apparent conditions that limit their physical or mental functioning. The other four out of five try not to think about the probabilities of moving into the less fortunate group sometime in the near future.
Despite all the social and sports activities here on “campus,” including an excellent dining room, bridge, golf, tennis, croquet and special events each month, an air of quiet resignation lurks under this blanket of convivial interaction. We’re shifting the deck chairs around, waiting for our individual ship of life to hit that inevitable iceberg and sink.
The same scene is being played in the hundreds of retirement communities around the United States. And more of these protected ghettos for the affluent elderly are being developed all the time. There are three established centers in my immediate vicinity, and half a dozen more are in various stages of development. We’re isolating ourselves from the pressures of daily living in order to protect ourselves against the stresses of approaching dying.
Are there any advantages to taking this dismal view of old age? I think so. A lot of progress has been made in facing death and dying. The hospice movement has spread rapidly through the United States in the past decade and has taught many of us to deal constructively with the death of a loved one. But, despite all the literature and despite the work of organizations like the American Association of Retired Persons, we still put too happy a face on growing old.
So, to all of you still in the prime of life, enjoy what you have now. Smell the roses while your sense of smell is still acute. Listen to the birds while you can still hear. Get up in the morning and be glad you are alive, really alive. “Dying Young” is a fantasy romance. Dying old is a common tragedy, made more stressful because of anticipatory apprehension. Satchel Paige should have known when he said, “Don’t look back. Something might be gaining on you,” that in the “golden years” looking forward is no less threatening. If we shouldn’t look back and can’t look forward, the conclusion is obvious: “Seize the day.”
