Sunset to Sunrise
Back in July, I turned 64 years old. Not much has changed as a result of this latest birthday, except my mail.
It’s weird, this morphing of mail when the “big 6-5” looms less than a year away. I kid you not - the type of mail clogging my mailbox underwent some weird, existential transformation in less time than it took to eat my piece of birthday cake. (A homemade angel food cake with chocolate ganache, baked by a loving daughter!) In addition to the annoying and voluminous number of catalogs for everything from new windows to sexy underwear, I suddenly started to get stern reminders from Medicare to “sign up for benefits AS SOON AS POSSIBLE” - reminding me the government is ever watchful of my decline into senescence. Educational mail from local healthcare providers started coming, warning me of the perils of getting older, of the need for all types of new, important, “must not ignore” advice in this most serious and somber time in my life. Local insurance companies peppered me with flyers intended to sell me Medi-Gap, supplemental and long term care insurance, not to mention all other manner of financial tools to assist me for that inevitable day --you know - the day after I turn 65, when all bets are off, my body will disintegrate into 10,000 pieces, and my brain will irrevocably dissolve into green mush.
When I am the one experiencing this negative view of aging, it’s unnerving. It wasn’t always so, but in our youth-worshiping culture, it’s taken hold, though thankfully there are signs that concepts of aging are changing - albeit slowly. Many social forces have contributed to a gradual change in how we see aging, and more importantly, how we plan to spend the next 20 - 30 years of our lives. Today’s boomers, for the most part, have no desire to retire to their front porch rocker, or the back nine of the local golf course. And yet, we are of two minds over the entire issue of aging.
Joan Chittister writes in The Gift of Years: Growing Older Gracefully (2008: BlueBridge Books): “To be over sixty-five in an age like ours is to feel bad even when we feel good. We are, after all, “old” now. Except, we don’t feel “old.” And we don’t think “old.” And we work very hard at not looking “old” – whatever looking old is supposed to mean. . . . We’re too old to get a job, they tell us – but they want us to volunteer all the time.”
Years ago, I heard the term “refirement”; it referred to a Christian-based, over-55 community developed for Christians who were looking to enter into a second phase of their lives that did not “retire” them to the back pasture, but “refired” them with new purpose to work in the surrounding towns and cities, bringing their wealth of knowledge and skills and life experience to bear upon any number of social issues and concerns. And if you google “refirement” (provided you deal with auto-correct that keeps forcing you back to “retirement”), you’ll find a wealth of information on “refirement”, a social sweep that is capturing the hearts and imaginations of many boomers as we head into the coming storm.
That concept of “refirement” captured my own heart years ago, and has greatly influenced how I see the next stage in my life. As a boomer, I have no intention of fitting the “retirement mold” - whatever that means, and studies are showing that many boomers are of the same mind. My husband rants at the online surveys that lump all people “65 years and older” into one large, overwhelming - and essentially false category, and rant aside - he’s got a point. That’s tantamount to lumping children in a category of “7 - 21 years” or adults into a group of “21 - 64 years” - the absurdity of this all too glaring. We recognize it when we categorize children and adults broadly - after all, teenagers are a categorical storm unto themselves. And we’ve all heard of mid-life crises and issues - certainly far different from the concerns of that 20-something heading out into the professional world, or the young mom juggling soccer practice, baby formulas and the career ladder. Categorizing people into any forced grouping rarely provides a true picture of anything: mores, values, economics, social or political ilk - we are simply too different, too varied - and too wonderfully unique for such generalizations, though sadly, it’s done all the time.
What I’m saying, I guess, is that I may be 64 now, and will be 65 at my next birthday, but I have so much left to do! I don’t feel old, and the last thing I’m thinking of is stepping aside from life to watch it go by as I count my ever-multiplying gray hairs. I have that novel in me that needs birthing; to that end, I’m taking a writing course to figure out how to do it right. I haven’t seen Paris yet, or Rome, or Greece, so I’ll need to keep my passport up to date, and ready to go, and plan for a few more trips. I head out for my first mission trip in a couple of months, heading into a Syrian refugee camp to do some medical outreach among children and women who’ve lost everything. This is a stretch for me - emotionally and psychologically - stepping out of my comfort zone in a big way, but I’m feeling the call to go. And so I’ll go. God’s got my back.
I’m going to continue working at my job part-time --which is perfect for me right now, and affords me the time to get my perennial gardens into shape, and take that fiber spinning class I’ve been meaning to for years. I’m not going to retire, and I’m not going to even acknowledge the aches and pains of the encroaching arthritis, or other health annoyances that plague most of us as our bodies protest the advancing years. I’ve got granddaughters who need a sewing teacher, a knitting guide. I’ve got a grandson who loves to cook, and I’ve got some traditional French Canadian dishes that he’ll need to learn to make soon enough.
In the end, just like our attitudes and choices as 20-somethings shaped our adult lives, so, too, will our attitudes and choices shape the coming “refirement age” into our 70’s and yes - 80’s. In all circumstances, we can choose how we live through them. We can allow the sea-tide of cultural noise to carry us off into endless leisure time and anonymity, with no intention or plan on how we’ll get to that final day; or we can anticipate these precious years as our “capstone project” in life, shaping and forming those years as best we can into a truly joyful and meaningful time. It’s an attitude; a choice.
I adore sunsets; they are beautiful. But they never eclipse the beauty of the sunrise. I’m choosing not to embrace the sunset as an end-game. I’m looking to the sunrise that will come tomorrow. It’s the only way to live well.