I Love Being Old ....
By Mary Essinger-Rogers - 09/06/2008
When I was eight and could do sums, I worked out that by the year 2000 I’d be sixty-four and probably dead or so decrepit that nobody would know the difference. And here I am, at seventy-two, packing a rucksack for a ten-mile hike. Of course to ninety year olds - and there are a lot of them about - I’m not old at all.
Although it goes against society’s entire perception of age being something to fear and make jokes about, I really LIKE being old; it’s an extremely enjoyable stage of life. You can boss people about and I like the way nice young men let me on the train first, hold doors open and lift my luggage off the carousel. I like the way people listen to what they believe is wisdom when I speak up at a meeting.
In his essay on childhood 'Such, Such were the Joys', George Orwell wrote that to a child, anyone over thirty was “a hideous grotesque staying alive for no apparent reason whatever,” which is why I spend money on wrinkle cream, never wear sleeveless dresses and avoid children.
Self-image is fascinating. The mirror shows a youthful, attractive lady but photographs tell a different story. “Who is that person? What is she doing in my garden? I don’t look like that.” To the beautiful young women in 'Hello! Magazine' I want to say, “One day you’ll be seventy, plan some sort of back-up.”
Today’s women tie balloons on their gate for seventieth, eightieth and even ninetieth birthdays. When I was young, once a woman was twenty-one she never mentioned her age again. If I’d asked my grandma how old she was she would have squeezed me through the mangle.
Germain Greer gave us the confidence to pursue a career, and it’s really good to be able to talk to a lady doctor, lady solicitor or a lady bank manager. We’re better off financially as well and, with retirement, no longer need to be nice to people we don’t like. When I was working and friends went on about how delightful retirement was, I really did not believe them and assumed they were putting on a brave face to hide the misery of being on the scrap heap. Stupid me.
Another pleasure of being old is the courage to say 'No' if we don’t want to do something, and the fun of doing a few mad things. Two friends joined the fan club of a rock singer they’re both in love with, and they go all over the country to his concerts where they sit on the front row doling out liquorice allsorts to the teenagers there. I tag on to guided tours in art galleries, nobody dare challenge an old lady, even if they notice, which is unlikely because you become invisible with age.
Senior moments are a worry; it can take up to take ten minutes to recall the name of a lifelong friend. Note the word ‘senior,’ a term used in America and far better than ‘senior citizen’ which is patronising. You read it here first.
We want the same as younger people. We want to know that somebody loves us - even if it’s only a cat. We want to look smart and be admired. We want friends and good talk in good company; we like restaurants, theatres, excitement and new experiences. And we daydream about romance. When things go right we sing and dance - and when they go wrong, well, there’s only a few years left.
You’d think after decades of experience we’d know what clothes to put on but we still find ourselves having to buy an emergency cardigan from you-know-where when we’re away from home and the weather turns cold. It’ll probably be the same when we’re a hundred.
Poverty is to be feared, ill health is to be feared, but aging is not. Look forward to enjoying the coming years, after all you’re only old once.