Want to Stop Ruminating About Your Age?

Face your "Next," tell yourself the truth, and move on!

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Photo by Tim Mossholder on Unsplash

You know how your eyes have to adjust when you go from light into darkness? You wait and then you begin to see, first dimly but soon back to normal. My whole body now goes through a similar involuntary adjustment when I get up from a chair. Slow down, it says, firing up my nerve endings just to make sure I listen. I feel paralyzed. We’re not quite ready to take that first step.

This is my most recent “Next” — transitions and changes throughout life that require a new strategy. I don’t like this one. I’m not used to hesitating before moving, feeling a sudden sharp pain, afraid to take another step. It happens in nanoseconds. I pause self-consciously as my dinner partner (or party) get/s up. It’s the same when I get out of a cab.

Whereas my eyes have been adjusting to darkness (without any help from me) since I was a baby, these sit-to-stand twinges feel new and troublesome. As soon as I start walking, I’m fine albeit a bit embarrassed to have held everyone back, even so briefly. The pain is gone…until the next time I sit for more than 15 minutes and then try to stand. Wash, rinse, repeat. Each Next gives us pause. Is this the new normal?

Who knows? We can’t see around corners. Or, as my daughter, a hospice nurse, tells patients who want her to predict the course of a fatal disease, “My crystal ball is in the shop.”

The best we can do is recall and learn from the Nexts we’ve already survived— difficult undertakings, divorce, moves, illness. I’ve also learned a thing or two by watching friends in their 90s and 100s—“my old ladies” — cope with what the much-later years can bring.

I knew I was not coping well with this Next when I heard the negative chatter in my head—the Committee: Getting up slowly makes you look old. Everyone will notice. They’ll think you’ve aged since they last saw you.

Hearing this a few times, I turned to my Inner Sage, the wiser me, who wants the best for me. She reminds me that at 81, I should be grateful and optimistic. I am in especially good shape for someone who needed a cane in August when I contracted West Nile disease (from a mosquito bite). The virus partially destroyed the protective myelin sheaf in my left leg, cutting off all communication from my brain. I had to physically lift my left to get in bed. What’s a little arthritic stiffness compared to that!

Nothing good comes of ruminating.

To be sure, aging can suck. But if my old ladies  have taught me anything, it’s that you just keep going. It’s not easy.  Nexts don’t come with a roadmap. Each brings an unexpected “good” or a challenge, some ongoing, some quite difficult. I get it if you’d rather hide your head. Me, too, sometimes. Then I remind myself, denial only makes it worse. Here’s what I recommend instead:

When The Committee is in session, call on your Inner Sage.

Your Inner Sage—that part of you that knows better—can silence the critical voices in your head. Your Inner Sage will lead you to the high road if you watch and listen. Mine is kind and complimentary but also holds me accountable. She nudge me to tell myself the truth. I am moving a little slower than I once did, I haven’t done much to strengthen my muscles, and what’s happening now is not exactly “new.” Ten years or more ago, my son commented matter-of-factly, “Mom, you’re walking more gingerly these days.” The Committee tried to latch onto that one, too, but my Inner Sage shot back, “So what? You’re lucky to be still walking, still climbing stairs, still here to visit with your son.” She also told me to give my body as much attention as my brain, but I didn’t listen.

“Look for the good.”

That’s a quote from my friend Zelda’s playbook. She almost made it to 105, in part because she always found a silver lining in The Bad. She knew instinctively what researchers confirm: Positivity predicts longevity. Joan, a spirited friend of my late sister-in-law’s, was in her early 90s when she confided, “I have everything else that other old people have — pain, loss, annoyances, problems. I just think about other things. I don’t dwell.” Talking to her reminds me that arthritic twinges are no big deal compared to the effects of having good people in my life, doing work I love, and being a little adventurous every day. I am thankful for all that good.

Glance in the rearview mirror.

You reach a certain age —different for each of us — when it’s possible to see where you’ve been and how you’ve managed earlier roadblocks. Pondering this latest reckoning with my physical self, I recall a similar epiphany more than a decade ago, standing naked in front of a mirror. Whose body is that? I said to myself, horrified at the image of a definitely-not-young me. My Inner Sage intervened. Ruminating about lost youth is a slippery slope. So I took a second look. “Not bad for 68.” Past victories remind me I have the skills to talk myself down from the ledge.

Do what needs to be done.

We cannot ignore or remove a difficult Next. But we can be conscientious and proactive. My friend Henrietta put it succinctly, reciting her mother’s motto, “You do what need to be done.” Seventy-eight when I met her, legally blind and needing a cane, Henrietta could barely see faces and signs. Still, she took the reins. She devised strategies that allowed her to compensate for her minimal eyesight and to continue writing, which she loved. Conscientious people tackle their problems, feel better about themselves and, not surprisingly, tend to live longer. I can’t stop the effects of time on my body, any more than Henrietta could restore her vision. But I can sit less and move more, swim, work with physical therapists, and take other actions that will (hopefully) strengthen my body and make the difficult moments more manageable. Also, I feel better about myself for making the effort instead of giving up.

Ask.

Watching Marge function as the CEO of her life until age 104¼, showed me what independence looked like. She took care of herself in every respect, did her own errands, kept track of appointments, traded stocks. But she also modeled interdependence — knowing how to ask for help when you need it. That’s hard for many of us. No one wants to be seen as needy. We associate asking with weakness. It’s actually the opposite — a well-documented win-win for both parties. If someone, stranger or friend, lends a hand down a steep set of stairs, it not only meets your need to be careful and safe, it benefits the helper, too. It feels good to be needed.

Adjust.

Doing things more slowly or carefully or in a different way is not defeat. It’s progress. It means that you wisely accept each new challenge — each Next—and you adjust accordingly. Buddhists remind us, “Don’t argue with reality.” Limitations don’t prevent you from being in the game, just playing it differently. Instead of exhausting yourself, play nine holes of golf, not eighteen. Get the hearing aid so you can be part of the conversation. Use a cane if you need support. Write down what you don’t want to forget. And by all means, take whatever time you need to get up from a chair!

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Melinda Blau is a veteran journalist, author of sixteen books, and a host/producer of the Crow’s Feet podcast. Zelda, Henrietta, Marge, and her other much-older friends are featured in Melinda’s 2024 book, The Wisdom Whisperers: Golden Guides to a Long Life of Grit, Grace, and Laughter. You can also hear some of their voices in “My Old Ladies: How Women in their 90s and 100s Inspire Me.”