To the Lovely Young Woman

Who gave up her seat to me on the subway last night

I wasn’t completely surprised when you stood up and offered me your seat. It’s been happening more often lately but still, am I that obviously “senior”?

Apparently I am.

What I’m not is some stoic old lady, the kind who smiles and prefers to stand. Not me. My plantar fasciitis has kicked up (I did that on purpose) and, yes, thank you very kindly. I will sit down. Ahhhhhhhh. Oh, thank you!

You pulled out an actual book after you stood up. This old lady approves. I pulled out my actual book as well. But instead of reading I found myself wanting to share some important truths with you. I haven’t gone completely dotty yet so I kept all that helpfulness to myself but wished I could have given you some pointers. Now, I’m fully aware that should I actually say any of this out loud to you or any other strong, young person, you might politely allow me to natter on but no way are you going to hear what I’m saying.

I wouldn’t have heard anything like that if anyone older than me had tried to help me out (and they probably did and I probably ignored them).

But it might have been a good thing if I had paid attention.

You think it’s always going to be this way

I did. I thought my legs would always be strong and could be counted on to carry me wherever I wanted to go. It never ever crossed my mind that the day was approaching when my legs would ache and that I would be out of breath after climbing a flight of stairs.

Here are some other things that I never questioned and always thought I’d be able to do and do well.

• I would be able to write, you know with a pen on a piece of paper, for hours at a time filling page after page.
• I never questioned that I’d always be able to see printed pages clearly.
• I would be able to and would want to compulsively draw weird pen and ink creatures that filled yards and yards of illustration board.
• I’d always be able to sleep soundly through the night.
• I would always weigh roughly the same year in and year out.
• I could be up and ready to take on whatever any day had in store with about three to four hours of sleep.
• I’d be able to poop every day with no trouble.
• Any illness would clear up after a couple of days’ rest.
• All my limbs would move easily without cramps or pain.
• I could drink myself senseless night after night and still function reasonably well day after day.
• I could eat anything I wanted with no ill effects or bad consequences.

And here are some other things that I also thought were just my lot in life that I would have to accept.

• Not being able to place an order for food, or anything, without stammering and contradicting myself.
• Being certain that if anyone knew the real me, they’d back away in disgust.
• Thinking I could read your mind accurately.
• Believing that by doing so and being everything I knew you wanted me to be that you would love me.
• That your love would fix me.
• Knowing that making any mistake would annihilate me.
• Being certain I could predict the future.
• Whenever I felt bad about anything I needed to fix it immediately.
• Lying about myself to get the things I thought I couldn’t live without.
• Not knowing the difference between what I wanted and what I needed.
• Thinking you had the power to make me happy or miserable.
• Knowing all eyes were on me when I’d walk down the street, finding fault with my every move.
• Always having to say yes to sex and everything else no matter what I actually wanted.
• Being fairly sure you could read my mind.

The shocking truth

It’s humbling and a little embarrassing to note that I was well into my 40s before realizing that most of the things on both those lists were not true. In fact, it wasn’t until I was in my mid-50s that my ever-so-reliable body began to mess up. Even with the beginning of menopause in my early 50s, I was still tooling along thinking that I could cruise like this, well, forever. You can imagine my surprise to learn otherwise.

We all operate under these same misconceptions with this or that particular twist unique to each of us.

Would my life have been any easier if I’d known all those good and bad things were either totally illusory or at least temporary? Maybe. Maybe not. I can’t even say for sure that my handy dandy little pointers would be helpful to you. Maybe we need to blindly shove ourselves forward through our days and years, taking certain things for granted until they fail us. But I will say that none of those beliefs served me well and that letting them go opened another world to me.

This world has room for me to screw up, be in pain, be wrong, be an old cranky lady some days and a wise flowing crone on others, rest when I need to, sit up late when I can’t sleep, go for yet another job interview without sweating whether I’ll get the damned job or not, eat what I want to (if not as much as I want to), turn the wrong way when I get off the bus and walk three blocks before realizing it, and talk about all of it.

You may not be able to hear me yet. But one day you will (probably about twenty-five minutes before you begin experiencing these things yourself which is standard).

And one day, when you’re offered a seat on the subway, you’ll ponder sharing your hard-won wisdom.

Don’t bother. She can’t hear you.

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