Confessions of a (Mostly) Unrepentant Octogenarian

Wrinkles, Wisdom, and the Speeding Clock

Being an octogenarian is a bit discombobulating.

I often find myself being the oldest person in the room. How can that be? I don’t feel all that old. And some of the people in the room with me aren’t spring chicks. A few years ago, my husband and I went to a reunion, and everybody there was old. It was disconcerting, to say the least.

I don’t feel quite elderly, but I’m pretty sure I fit that category. I even looked up the definition of elderly, just to be sure. One definition said sixty-five or older. Sixty-five seems pretty young to me now. I think the definition I like is this one: Elderly is ten or more years older than you are once you’ve hit sixty-five.

I don’t have to show an ID to get a senior discount. Just to be sure, sometimes I ask if I need to show my ID, and nobody ever says yes. However, oddly, a couple of years ago I had to show my ID to get a bottle of wine in Tennessee. I was checking out in a grocery line, and the cashier had to ask me for it a couple of times before it registered that she was talking to me. I’m pretty sure she thought I was hard of hearing. I might be a bit hard of hearing, but that time I found it hard to believe my ears.

I don’t notice my appearance of aging nearly as much as I once did. I remember when my neck began to show signs of wobbling, when I first noticed my jawline was beginning to slacken, when I first noticed my jiggly arms. I remember the shock of the first time I looked at one of my hands and thought, “That looks like an old lady’s hand!” All these firsts happened years ago. Now I think I have the overall look of a melting ice cream cone. No one drip is particularly noticeable. But the ice cream is definitely softer.

I haven’t become wise. I still have lots of uncertainties. And lots and lots to learn — I think even more than twenty years ago.

I haven’t become complacent either. Shouldn’t old people feel satisfied with what they’ve done and quit worrying about improving? On the other hand, I am consistent — even though my consistency is in being consistently inconsistent.

I do notice that other people have changed a lot in recent years. Everyone walks very fast these days. Even when they aren’t noticeably hurrying, they pass me. And people have become more helpful — offering me a seat, asking if I need help carrying something, holding the door for me or offering me their grocery cart. I usually accept their offers — I think it’s kind to allow others the joy of being helpful and kind. Cultivating kindness is important for every age.

I also notice that people are finishing school younger and younger. Even the doctors look like they’re barely out of their teens.

And time flies! I think of things that seem to have happened only a short time ago and realize there is a whole generation of people who weren’t alive when that happened — a generation of people who are now parents themselves! How did that happen?

Even though I don’t feel elderly, I have begun to feel a bit older. I notice creaks and aches that weren’t with me a while ago. Mostly when I’m moving though. I feel pretty spry when I’m sitting. I can remember what it was like to do jumping jacks and wonder why anyone thought that was exercise. (But I think it’s probably been sixty years since I felt that way.)

And I’ve lost the feelings of invincibility I once had. I hold the rail when I go downstairs (and maybe even upstairs). I’m a bit off-balance these days.

I am also very aware of the fact that people sometimes talk about age as though it’s a bad thing. “Don’t ever ask someone their age.” “Fifty is the new thirty.” “Look younger in seconds.”

For me, being an octogenarian is a bit bewildering, but I am clear on the fact that age is good. I’m very, very grateful for my years.