By Amy Bryant
“Oh, Amy, you don’t look your age. I would have taken you for _______ (here they insert a number 15 years younger than my number),” and I beam with pride over the compliment. We live in a youth-oriented society in which age-related compliments always refer to being young looking. Except, of course, when a gentleman calls you “young lady.” What he really means is, “I can see you’re an old broad, but I want to make you feel good.”
My grandmother was a plump old lady, who stood four feet eleven inches tall. She looked like the grandmothers in my storybooks. Gram didn’t mind being called plump or old, it was a revered part of her identity; a status that had been earned. I remember curling up in her lap, nestled against her big bosoms. She wrapped her fat arms around me with pride. Gram never heard of abs or triceps.
She did wear a corset, not the twenty first century lacy kind accompanied by stilettos. Hers had small metal strips called stays. The purpose was to hold the ample body in a bit to prevent jiggling. It’s what made it possible for her to eat the second piece of bread pudding, totally guilt free. She didn’t go to the gym. Her exercise consisted of cleaning an eight-room two story house, and walking up and down to the basement to do laundry, which was then hauled outdoors to dry on the line.
Somehow, plump elder pride skipped my generation. When I only had 70-plus candles, it was easy to keep up the youthful image. I really did look much younger than my age, and with boundless energy, I had no problem upholding the image. But now, with 80-plus candles on my cake, the image is more of a struggle. I have aches and pains, as well as hidden wrinkles, that were not present with 70 candles. As I talk with friends who are my 80 candle peers, I don’t want to be compelled to deny the aging process.
In years gone by, and in other parts of the world, there have been cultures that embrace the elder status. I would like the greater society to admire more than my youthfulness. How nice it would be for our society to honor my elder status.
Cultures that value old age tend to de-emphasize the physical aspects of aging, and to emphasize the values that they bring to the society. Recently, I was introduced to the concept of Blue Zones: countries such as Japan, Korea, India, and Greece. where it is not unusual for people to live until the age of 100, and where old age is honored. In Blue Zone countries, as well as traditional Native American and African cultures, old people are held in high esteem. They are revered for their wisdom (developed by their mistakes, as well as their successes), and their advice is welcomed. They are an integral part of the family, cared for by their adult children, and do not suffer from isolation. Old people are the storytellers, keepers of the family history passed down through the generations.
Our society is at a crossroads. On one hand, ageism portrays the elderly as sad, isolated, senile, wrinkled, and unattractive. By contrast, more and more older adults are pursuing healthy eating habits, fitness programs, and activities that challenge the intellect. Perhaps as we redefine the characteristics of old age, we’ll stop being afraid of using and identifying with the word old.
As I’ve examined my own viewpoint, I’m realizing that it’s not about keeping up a youthful physical image. Instead, I’m pleased when people express appreciation of my wisdom as a writer. Far from being isolated, I am blessed with a circle of friends across age, race and gender. My family is close and loving, and when I’ve been injured, they’ve rushed to look after me.
I realize that I’m feeling vitally alive and appreciated and as such, I live in my own Blue Zone. I don’t have to be afraid to use the taboo word, I can embrace my old age.
