You Look Good For Your Age
“Old age is not a disease. It is not a pathology. It is not abnormal. It is not a problem. Old age is a continuum, and everyone is on it. We’re all aging all the time. You are aging right now as you read these words — and not any faster or slower than an infant or a grandfather.”
The other morning I was walking along the river, limping slightly because of a sore knee. A piercing cry drew my eye to a belted kingfisher swooping down off the mast of a fishing boat. Unsuccessful, she soared through the air and returned to her perch, patiently awaiting the next opportunity.
I saw Sara at the corner, waiting for me with her dog, Harley. I know most of the neighbourhood dogs by name. Not so much for their owners; I always have to be intentional to burn their names into my brain. These women I occasionally walk with are not friends, merely acquaintances. Our conversations flit from the weather to dogs; and then to the pandemic. Still, we talk about the pandemic.
That morning, Sara mentioned that her daughter, about to turn 16, was eagerly hoping for a car as a birthday present. She had her fingers crossed for a convertible Volkswagen Beetle. I told her of the convertible bug I gifted myself for my 50th birthday. Sara raised her eyebrows with surprise and said, “I can’t believe you’ve had the car for so long! How old is it?” Then silence consumed us. I saw the realization dawning that she had just implied I am old. How did I feel? Thinking back, I am surprised I was not angry or upset. I can only describe what I felt as bemused.
How do you follow up on such a blatant statement? Sara fumbled for words and then backpedaled, “But you look good for your age!” There was discomfort written on her face and a clear desire to take back her words, knowing she was only sinking deeper.
This has been the only time I have been told I look good for my age! Months later, the conversation keeps re-surfacing in my head. What intrigues me most is my reaction.
I was not offended. I am 63 years old. I have never been one to spend a lot of time on skincare. I have actually not taken good care of my body at all. I don’t say this proudly; I have long been paying for this neglect. I have never had a healthy relationship with my body.
Two years ago, I wrote a blog post, The Long Reach of Body Shame, where I shared with you that I knew I was fat at the age of ten. I wrote, “the sad part is that I continued to think I was fat for the next 40 years. I was ashamed of my body throughout my childhood, adolescence, and early adulthood. I was ashamed that I did not have the willpower and restraint to take control. I went from being uncomfortable with my body to hating my body, to ignoring my body. Over the years, body shame has impacted my relationships, my work, my confidence, and my enjoyment of day-to-day living. We know from Brene Brown that body shame is so powerful and often so deeply rooted in our psyche that it can impact why and how we feel shame in regards to identity, appearance, sexuality, motherhood, parenting, health, and aging. The long reach of body shame can impact who and how we love, work, parent, communicate, and build relationships.”
I cannot undo the past. Although I wish I had spoken to a therapist all those years ago to better understand how I was feeling about my body so I could have started healing. I began taking better care of myself in my 50s. My improved physical condition led to taking more risks, setting off on new adventures, and feeling better about myself. I managed okay during the pandemic. But then both my mother and dog died unexpectedly. Their deaths, accompanied by some physical ailments, once again saw me neglecting my physical and mental well-being. I sometimes beat myself up that I am not respecting my body and mind these days, but interestingly, I no longer feel the shame I once felt. Okay, I lie - occasionally, I am still disappointed in myself.
But while I may occasionally feel personal shame, I no longer feel societal shame. I was bemused when I was told that I look good for my age because I don’t really care. I expect to look older; I am older. I feel better about myself now, than I have most of my life. How I look matters little; how I feel matters far more. I have finally become myself.
Now I Become Myself by May Sarton is one of my favourite poems, perfect really for this moment in our lives. I thought you might also enjoy it.
Now I become myself. It's taken
Time, many years and places;
I have been dissolved and shaken,
Worn other people's faces,
Run madly, as if Time were there,
Terribly old, crying a warning,
"Hurry, you will be dead before—"
(What? Before you reach the morning?
Or the end of the poem is clear?
Or love safe in the walled city?)
Now to stand still, to be here,
Feel my own weight and density!
The black shadow on the paper
Is my hand; the shadow of a word
As thought shapes the shaper
Falls heavy on the page, is heard.
All fuses now, falls into place
From wish to action, word to silence,
My work, my love, my time, my face
Gathered into one intense
Gesture of growing like a plant.
As slowly as the ripening fruit
Fertile, detached, and always spent,
Falls but does not exhaust the root,
So all the poem is, can give,
Grows in me to become the song,
Made so and rooted by love.
Now there is time and Time is young.
O, in this single hour I live
All of myself and do not move.
I, the pursued, who madly ran,
Stand still, stand still, and stop the sun!
- May Sarton