Counting the Grays
- July 31st, 2007
- Posted in Life
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I’ve been reading quite a bit in the last several days, trying to catch up on my re-reads of all of the Harry Potter books so that I can get to its conclusion, which has been kindly awaiting me on the bookshelf, slowly pulsing a golden glow and calling to me every once in a while.
I ran into an interesting problem today at work: after all of the reading I had done over the last few days (I spent hours at it nonstop over the weekend), I couldn’t see—in the sense that I simply couldn’t get my eyes to focus on my computer screen. Perhaps this was because it was further away than the books I’d been reading, or perhaps it was because the text on my laptop screen is generally smaller than the books I’d been reading, but whatever it was, nothing would come into focus. I finally decided that perhaps it was best if I head home and rest my eyes or take a nap or something (something that will be taking place as soon as I finish this post and eat lunch).
On my way home, though, I decided to try something. I stopped in at Walgreens and bought my first-ever pair of—gulp—reading glasses. If it was simply that my eyes were overworked and tired, perhaps reading glasses would help me to relieve that strain. And sure enough, these things are awesome. Yes, it’s a little strange what happens when I take them off (having never really worn any kind of glasses, besides a short stint when I played baseball and the doctors thought that they’d help my depth perception—they didn’t), but for reading up close or working on my computer, I think these things are going to get a lot of use.
At the same time, though, I can’t shake the feeling that I’m just turning into some older, grayer version of myself. One that can’t party like he did in college and shouts at kids to get off his lawn. And it’s because of that guy that I ask the question:
Why are we so afraid of growing old?
Like I said before, these glasses are awesome. I don’t even have to work to focus my eyes on what I’m reading, and that’s saying a lot, given that I only have one eye that’s normal. But the fact remains that as I start to get older, and the gray in my hair—which started showing up around the age of seventeen—begins to become more and more noticeable by other people instead of just by myself, I start to, I dunno, resent myself for not being able to do the things I could do when I was younger, or at least not without help. Even that resentment started when I was relatively young, when I discovered that I had a congenital ankle condition that essentially prevented me from doing the same things that other kids did—running, for example, was something I could only do in small amounts, because any lengthy pressure on my heels caused immense pain later in the day. And it made me feel a little more useless inside.
I think that’s where this fear of aging comes from, too. As we get older, we realize that we aren’t as solid as we used to be, and that makes us feel more, well, mortal. Maybe it’s precisely because kids don’t feel those aches and pains and little quirks of age that they tend to feel invincible, whereas the wisdom of age comes from knowing that this isn’t the case.
Maybe it’s just that I think reading glasses are a crutch, and I don’t feel like I need it, when obviously, I do. Maybe someday I’ll need crutches for my ankles, too, and I’ll go through this all over again.
It’s not a fear of getting older. It’s a fear of death. If we didn’t die, getting older would be really cool:) As it is…well….
I agree. It’s not the idea of getting older that I dislike so much as the idea of getting weaker or slower, and the feeling that it brings me closer to death. But it’s not even just the simple (and understandable) fear of death. It’s the fear of losing something, or missing opportunities.
When I think of growing old, I tend associate it with things I can’t do. For how long can I still eat all the foods that I like? Is it too late to learn to dance, or to try to get to black belt? At what point do I have to worry that the age gaps in my relationships are unhealthy?
It’s not just physical abilities. The expectations of change. The same behavior that was considered precocious as a child or teen becomes typical in adolescence, cute and quirky in college, immature in “real” adulthood, and brands me a Dirty Old Man (or at least senile) later in life. Old people aren’t supposed to take the same joy in life; they’re supposed to yell at kids to get off the lawn. I don’t want to feel like my fun is coming to an end, when I feel like I’m just getting started.
Who says that old men are supposed to yell at kids to get off the lawn???? My guess is that I’m one of, if not the oldest person reading these comments and I’m not now, nor have I ever been, concerned with what one is “supposed” to do, be, seem like, etc. My original comment was more tongue-in-cheek than anything else. Growing older just “is.” There’s nothing you can do about it except keep yourself in reasonable shape and enjoy it. Sounds like your problem with growing old(er) are the stereotypes you’re carrying around in your head. Relax. It’s OK. Life is good as long as you maintain an attitude that supports you.
I feel that I am doing a poor job of explaining myself.
It’s not that I have an exceptional dread of growing old, though that is the question of the day. It’s that most people don’t say “I feel old” when they learn to do something new, or when they’re feeling energetic. So it becomes a metaphor for losing something. But more personally, I don’t want to be treated like I’m old, even after I grow old.
I don’t like being told that I can’t skip meals and sleep the way I did in college any more, and I like it even less when it’s true. I certainly don’t want to be old that I can’t eat what I like; what’s the point of being an adult and taking responsibility for myself if I can’t occasionally have ice cream for breakfast?
I’m certain that I sound a little immature when I put it like that, but that’s rather the point. If I manage to keep up my present habits in food, sleep, and personal entertainment, in another ten or twenty years it’ll be assumed that I’m in my mid-life crisis. And while I generally don’t care what people think of me, I suspect that it’ll be a little harder to enjoy the metaphorical party once I start getting funny looks for even showing up.
As Matthew’s brother Jonny said the other day: “When I became a man, I put away childish things, principle among them the desire to not seem childish.”