{"id":25413,"date":"2016-09-08T00:01:30","date_gmt":"2016-09-08T07:01:30","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/barbarafalconernewhall.com\/?p=25413"},"modified":"2016-09-08T00:01:30","modified_gmt":"2016-09-08T07:01:30","slug":"shame-of-aging","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"http:\/\/server.stagingweb3.net\/barbarafalconernewhall\/shame-of-aging\/","title":{"rendered":"The Shame of Aging: The Big Seven-Five Has Finally Arrived"},"content":{"rendered":"
\"Experiencing<\/a>
The shame of aging: Tossing stuff out as The Big Seven-Five approached. Photo by Barbara Newhall<\/em><\/figcaption><\/figure>\n

By Barbara Falconer Newhall<\/em><\/p>\n

It’s here. It arrived this week — my birthday, The Big Seven-Five. I am now officially old. And I look it. There’s no avoiding it any more. Ever since my aging eyeballs got their sparkling new, man-made plastic lenses<\/a>, I’ve been seeing my true self in the mirror. Every last wrinkle, sun spot and neck\u00a0wobble.<\/p>\n

You might wonder, what kind of mental and spiritual preparation did I make in the final\u00a0days of late\u00a0middle age as The Big Seven-Five loomed?<\/p>\n

I did the sensible thing. I got rid of stuff. I pitched notes from journalism\u00a0conventions and handouts \u00a0from writers conferences. \u00a0I tossed out my old manuscripts. I tossed out other people’s old manuscripts. I pitched business cards from agents and publishers. I dumped reporter’s notebooks filled\u00a0with\u00a0notes on\u00a0Mormons, Witches, Episcopalians and cranky atheists.<\/p>\n

\"Experiencing<\/a>
The shame of aging: Notice how deftly the author covered her droopy chin with a copy of her brand new book with the perky cover. Selfies by Barbara Newhall<\/em><\/figcaption><\/figure>\n
\"Barbara<\/a>
The new, shameless me, wrinkles and all, on my 75th birthday. It took a total of 69 carefully lit photos to achieve this one.<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n

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Basket after basket of stuff went up to\u00a0the recycling bin in the garage.\u00a0My\u00a0going-on-75-year-old glutes and hamstrings got a mighty workout hauling\u00a0stuff\u00a0up the two flights of stairs.<\/p>\n

That’s what I felt like doing as I saw old age approaching: I felt like\u00a0getting rid of stuff. Letting go of stuff. Letting go of hopes and aspirations no longer dear to my heart.<\/p>\n

The Big Seven-Five — What Matters Now<\/h5>\n

I’ve got a brand new baby granddaughter in the Midwest. I’ve got a daughter down south engaged to be\u00a0married next May. I’ve got friends and cousins and one last surviving uncle all over the country that I long to see. I’ve got a\u00a0brother who, post-stroke, no longer bicycles in the red zone. I have\u00a0a husband who counts on\u00a0my\u00a0help with\u00a0the daily crossword puzzle.<\/p>\n

Those old files and papers are\u00a0gone, and good riddance. But am I really ready to let go of the writing career I’ve pursued\u00a0since age 24, when I left Michigan to seek my fortune in\u00a0New York city? I kinda doubt it. Here I am, as you can plainly see, sitting at the keyboard, sharing my latest big thing with you.<\/p>\n

And\u00a0it’s a biggie. It’s worth writing about. Noticing\u00a0that old age, The Big Seven-Five, has arrived at your doorstep? Definitely worth\u00a0a paragraph or two.<\/p>\n

The Shame of Aging<\/h5>\n

But . . . but now that I’ve written this down, I’m not at all sure I want to publish\u00a0it. Tell the world my true age? My truly true old age? I don’t think so.<\/p>\n

Being old is embarrassing.\u00a0It’s shameful. In the American culture that I — and you too, maybe\u00a0— am\u00a0bathed\u00a0in, old age is not an honorable state. It is the ultimate\u00a0failure. How can you let that happen to you? How uncool! How doddering! What poor planning! What? You aren’t young and sleek and quick of mind? How useless and uninteresting you are! You don’t know what Snapchat is? You’ve still got a landline at your house? You don’t\u00a0commute to a real job\u00a0every day? You’re boring.\u00a0Psychologists have a \u00a0name for it<\/a>. They call it the shame of aging.<\/p>\n

As a young and immortal English major at the University of Michigan back in the early Sixties, I dutifully parsed T.S. Eliot’s “The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock.” The humiliation of old age would never\u00a0happen to me, I was certain. It happened\u00a0to people who let themselves get old<\/em>.<\/p>\n

I grow old \u2026 I grow old \u2026<\/p>\n

I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

But it did happen to me. I got old. And along with it came the shame of old age. It’s a deadening state of mind. But one that I’m pretty sure I can\u00a0get over. Just sit myself down and write\u00a0about it. Have heart-to-hearts with\u00a0friends and age-mates in the same\u00a0rickety old boat.\u00a0Work on it.<\/p>\n

Less tractable\u00a0is the hard fact that, in\u00a0announcing my age publicly as I am today, I\u00a0am\u00a0scaring off potential publishers for\u00a0my next book. It’s\u00a0age discrimination, yes. But it’s also\u00a0simple economics: publishers want\u00a0authors with lots of books in their futures.<\/p>\n

Of course, if an author is needed to write\u00a0a book on being thoroughly,\u00a0ineluctably 75, I’m it.<\/p>\n

More thoughts on getting old\/older at “Is That Me in the Mirror — Or Somebody’s Grandmother?”<\/a>\u00a0 Also, “My Upper Lip and Other Sorrows.”<\/a><\/em><\/p>\n

\"the<\/a>
The Big Seven-Five: I don’t wear my trousers rolled. But I wear clunky, old-lady oxfords in public. Selfie by Barbara Newhall<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n

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\"The<\/a><\/p>\n

It’s here. My birthday. The Big Seven-Five. I’m now officially old. But I don’t wear my trousers rolled. Read more.<\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":25449,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[10],"tags":[1777,103,34,266,55,82,1778,1779,197,69],"class_list":["post-25413","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-a-case-of-the-human-condition","tag-age-discrimination","tag-aging","tag-dont-miss","tag-getting-older","tag-family-stories","tag-on-the-funny-side","tag-shame-of-aging","tag-the-big-seven-five","tag-the-writing-room-2","tag-writing-tips"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"http:\/\/server.stagingweb3.net\/barbarafalconernewhall\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/25413","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"http:\/\/server.stagingweb3.net\/barbarafalconernewhall\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"http:\/\/server.stagingweb3.net\/barbarafalconernewhall\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/server.stagingweb3.net\/barbarafalconernewhall\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/server.stagingweb3.net\/barbarafalconernewhall\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=25413"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"http:\/\/server.stagingweb3.net\/barbarafalconernewhall\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/25413\/revisions"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"http:\/\/server.stagingweb3.net\/barbarafalconernewhall\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=25413"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/server.stagingweb3.net\/barbarafalconernewhall\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=25413"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/server.stagingweb3.net\/barbarafalconernewhall\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=25413"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}