Realism \ Regrets \ Relaxing \ Religion \ Resolutions \ Respect \ Responsibility \ Retirement \ Retirement villages \ Routines \ Rudeness
Realism is important at our age, but we shouldn’t let it cramp our imagination entirely. We haven’t gotten this far without being realistic about what does and doesn’t work, and we know our limitations as well as those of the people we interact with. But being hardened by experience needn’t stop us from taking on a challenge. Optimists will believe they’ll emerge triumphant and pessimists will expect disaster, but even the most realistic of us still has dreams.
Regrets are like the stuffed toys we comforted ourselves with as children, things we should have grown out of but can’t bear to throw away. We all have much to regret, so many encounters that ended badly, the memories of which make us sit up in the middle of the night with a nightmare shudder, either because we’re still owed an apology, or we didn’t apologize when we could and should have. We know we shouldn’t dwell on these matters, but like all the stuff we’ve stored out of sight, they’re never quite out of mind. Of course we should have a good clean-out and face the future cleansed, but who wants to be clean and pure when the rest of the world fights dirty? However ashamed we are of the things we regret, like that scruffy old toy, it’s a comfort to know we can give them a private airing when we need to.
Relaxing is hard when you’re as busy as we are, latecomers to a culture that insists on instant response as well as instant gratification. To relax properly is not the same as wasting time—you have to be disciplined, which appears to be a contradiction in terms. You need to set aside a period of at least twenty minutes during which you use whatever method you prefer to empty your mind and allow your body to find its natural alignment. I know that sounds like psychobabble, and I’m not good about meditation, nor have I tried yoga, but I did find the Alexander Technique—a method of relaxation originally developed for actors with stage fright—to be effective in easing aches and pains, and it has the additional benefit of making me less dependent on an inhaler for allergies by teaching me how to relax my chest and lungs. It didn’t make me taller or more attractive, but then relaxing is about looking inward and disengaging from the usual concerns that absorb our energies and nag at our confidence.
Religion is a subject on which people of our age have long ago made up our minds. As a Jewish atheist all I’m going to say is that the rituals for solemn events like weddings and funerals still bring people together for a common purpose, whatever their faith, and that places of worship are impressive monuments to community belief. At its best, religion offers charity to the poor, care for the sick, and comfort to the lonely; at less than its best it cloaks in respectability the small-minded, the censorious, the intolerant, and the fanatic. But while a secular or humanist ceremony can equal the religious ones in emotional grandeur, they don’t have the hymns, do they?
Resolutions have been broken so often during the many years we’ve been striving for improvement that it’s a wonder we go on making them. It’s a combination of habit, optimism, and self-delusion: We find that a favorite garment has suddenly grown too small, and in a fit of self-disgust we resolve to give up our favorite vices, and while we’re about it we’ll also stop swearing or growling at our loved ones. We end up fulfilling none of those resolutions, and console ourselves by overindulging even more, telling ourselves it doesn’t really matter at our time of life, and conveniently ignoring the fact that while we’re very good at criticizing a lack of willpower in others, we’ve learned very little about controlling our own.
Respect should be accorded us for our sheer survival, if not for our achievements. Sadly, we do not always receive our due, because there are now so many of us oldies our age is unremarkable and hardly merits attention. What can we do to gain respect, assuming that’s what we want? Heroic deeds are probably beyond us, philanthropy is so common it would have to be on a massive scale, and while a sudden change of behavior would rightly be regarded with suspicion, consistency is too boring to alter attitudes, unless you’re royalty. You don’t get respect by drawing attention to yourself, or if you do it doesn’t last long, and though the ability to make people laugh is much respected, it’s no good if you can’t deliver a punchline effectively. In my view, respect is like approval and the universal desire to be loved: If you do what you enjoy as well as you can and pretend not to care what other people think, respect may be yours. Or not, but at least you’re having fun.
Responsibility can’t, alas, be shirked, at least not until we can no longer take responsibility for ourselves. We may frequently want to take a step back, to let others stand in the firing line, to watch from a distance while those we love ignore our advice and do things that end in tears, whether it’s dissipating their emotional energy on doomed relationships or wasting their political energy on futile gestures. Of course they should act responsibly, but if they don’t, we can’t give up on them any more than we can turn up the thermostat and stop worrying about global warming, or pick up a plastic bottle of water and ignore the fact that it will find its way into the deepest and darkest parts of our oceans. We grew up believing the individual can and should make a difference, and just because we’ve done our part doesn’t, sadly, mean there isn’t more to be done. However tempting it is to let others carry the torch for progress, the need for effective action is greater than ever, and because we wouldn’t be where we are today if we hadn’t acted responsibly at least some of the time, we owe it to ourselves to carry on.
Retirement is a nonsensical term: To call yourself “retired” is a totally inaccurate description of all the activities and anxieties that fill your waking, and often your sleeping, hours. Just because you are no longer in full-time employment doesn’t mean you have withdrawn from the world, or that you have nothing more to contribute to it. I am self-employed and still working in my seventies; the father of a friend of mine still put in a few hours most days at his desk, and he was 102. Being forced to give up a job you enjoyed just because you have reached an arbitrary age is ridiculous and insulting, and a bus pass and retirement funds are small compensation. If we’re still active, capable, and taking pride and pleasure in our work, we should be encouraged to continue.
Retirement villages, unlike retirement homes, sound quite attractive if you can afford them. You have your own living space, there are plenty of leisure activities, communal restaurants for those who can’t be bothered to cook, and assistance and medical care are always available. The grounds and buildings are secure, and though your neighbors are strangers they will be of your generation and suffer from similar ailments. Unlike a retirement home, where the staff struggle to care for a disparate collection of often demented people who can’t look after themselves, a retirement village doesn’t operate a regime with a strict set of rules that benefit the owner rather than the occupant. But would you want to live in a community consisting only of people like you—people of similar age, income, and interests? The village we live in had a properly mixed population when we bought our house, but thanks to the ridiculous rise in property prices only the seriously wealthy can now afford to buy here. Isn’t the joy of living in a mixed community having children around, and young people in touch with the latest trends, even the occasional vandal to grumble about, as well as persons with different backgrounds, experiences, and views that may not be the same as yours? When I get to the stage of being unable to take care of myself, I hope I’ll be able to afford a caregiver and have family around to keep an eye on me and them. If not, I’d opt for assisted dying with dignity, but whatever the case I wouldn’t want to live with people just like me: That would be boring, and boredom is what kills you.
Routines are the banisters that get us through the day. They are deeply personal, and often seem ridiculous to outsiders who have their own rituals to keep them going. You probably don’t remember how or why you started on your particular routine, and assuming you don’t suffer from OCD, you’d regard it as quite flexible and subject to change at whim. Routines offer a comfortable straitjacket in which you can do stuff without having to think about it, but when they start to run your life, rather than you being in charge, they’ve become obsessions, and need to be challenged.
Rudeness has to be instinctive, and is stronger if laced with wit, but if you can’t manage that, you can show you’re in control by staying calm. If an outburst is unstoppable, let rip and leave, preferably before they can respond.