Category: Aging (Page 1 of 6)

December 2024

By Richard Fleming

Photo courtesy of Stephane Juban

Even though I often feel middle-aged, society views me as a senior. Unequivocally and unambiguously. I try to be unobtrusive and not too disruptive as I navigate the highways and byways of living life as a senior. But the reminders of my true status are constant and unavoidable.

A few recent examples illustrate my point.

My wife and I went to Las Vegas in late October for a few days to spend time with old friends. Most of our time was spent eating and reminiscing about the past. But we also indulged in some activities on our own.

*    *    *

After we arrived in the city, my wife discovered Kamala Harris was having a rally in North Las Vegas during our stay. We decided to attend, since seeing a presidential candidate live and in person is an uncommon opportunity. And we were feeling optimistic she could win.

We took an Uber to Craig Ranch Regional Park, where the rally was to be held. Wow, was it crowded. In fact, the front entrance to the venue was closed off. We feared we had arrived too late and they would turn us away. Campaign volunteers were standing at the entrance and we asked a nice young man if we could get in. He assured us there was still room, but we would have to go to the far side of the amphitheater to be admitted. He pointed us to a spot 10 yards away and told us to stay there to be picked up by golf carts transporting people to the back entrance. We went to the pickup place to wait.

After a while I noticed the same campaign volunteer telling other latecomers – folks younger than us – they could walk around the perimeter of the amphitheater to the rear entrance. We looked at each other and agreed there was no need to wait for a golf cart when we could just walk with the other people. The walk was simple, about a half mile on level ground. A couple of golf carts, all carrying old people, lapped us. Clearly the young man at the entrance was trying to be nice and solicitous since we appeared to be old.

The rally ended up being amazing. The turnout was huge, the crowd was very diverse by age and by race, and people were very excited.

We had two take-home messages from this experience. First, size truly doesn’t matter. Harris’ rallies around the country were larger than Trump’s, but she still lost. And second, young people view us as old and a bit fragile. While I appreciated the staff member’s courtesy and concern, it also felt a bit humiliating. He did not ask us if we were OK walking a half mile to the back entrance or did we need a golf cart. He simply assumed we were members of the golf cart generation.

*    *    *

We also went to The Sphere in Las Vegas, a massive orb which hosts concerts, conferences, and multi-media events. Our ticket included a visit to an area inside the venue where we could interact with several robots powered by artificial intelligence. We were among the first to arrive and walked right up to a robot to talk with her. It was fascinating. We spent a while asking the robot questions and answering her questions of us.

Finally, after about five minutes, the robot asked if we would like to take a selfie with her. Of course we said yes. We turned around and saw there was now a small crowd of people behind us, waiting to chat with the robot. We knew we should quickly take our selfie and get out of the way. I pulled my cell phone out, found the camera app, and started to flip the image to selfie mode.

At that point, a charming young teenager standing right behind us with her family said, “Here, let me take your picture.” She quickly grabbed my phone, took our picture with the robot behind us, smiled, and said, “I took a lot so there should be good ones for you.” I appreciated her gesture. But I also realized she knew that if we old folks tried to do a selfie, it would take forever. She knew that she could speed things along if she just took over. Young people can be so adorable and so thoughtful. Harrumph!

*    *    *

And then there was my fumbling attempt to tap my credit card on the payment terminal in a coffee shop at the hotel where we were staying. I thought I finally knew how to tap cards but was having hard time with this particular machine. I tapped one place that looked correct. No response. I tapped another promising spot. Still no response. I tried once more without success, so the cashier took my card and did the tapping herself. She said to me, “It’s OK, I understand.” Four simple words, which spoke volumes.

*    *    *

These brief and unremarkable events over the course of a few days in Las Vegas brought home to me that, truly, I am no longer middle-aged nor am I viewed as middle-aged by the world in which I live. I should not complain. I know the folks I was interacting with were trying to be helpful and patient, and that is far better than if they were acting frustrated and impatient. I also learned that what happens to old people in Vegas does not stay in Vegas. Quite the opposite.

I need to let go of the lingering illusion that I stand on the threshold of old age. I’m sure one day I will fully embrace my status as a senior. Maybe in 2025?

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November 2024

By Richard Fleming

Photo courtesy of Sheggeor Laker

In a recent post I posed a thought experiment: imagine what the world would be like without old people. That post was motivated by my periodic perception that some young and even middle-aged people view seniors as superfluous old fuddy-duddies who are clueless and uninformed about how the world works. I offered some speculative scenarios about what the world would be like if there were no old people. Such a society might have a few advantages for younger generations. But it would also create problems. My conclusion – not motivated by self-interest of course – was that on balance the world is better off with seniors.

To better understand how other generations contribute to society, I want to briefly posit a different thought experiment: what if the world had no young people? Such a land is difficult to contemplate, but imagine a world where there is no one under age 21. What would such a world be like, especially for seniors? There is no question our lives would change dramatically.

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Let’s look first at potential advantages. We would no longer have young grandchildren in need of babysitting, storytelling, mentoring, and perhaps some financial support. Our spare time would open up, allowing us to pursue more hobbies and leisure pursuits. Our world would be quieter, with no babies crying, no toddlers acting out, and no loud teenage parties on neighborhood porches and back yards. Parks would be more peaceful without kids running wild. Public money would no longer be needed to maintain playgrounds with teeter totters, swings, and fake elephants which young children love to climb on.

Government spending on K-12 education would no longer be needed, meaning Social Security could be better funded. Our adult children would have much more time available since they would not have young kids at home to deal with. Their free time could be redirected towards helping their elderly family members, i.e. us old folks.

*    *    *

But there would also be significant disadvantages in a world without the young. There would be far less laughter and fun, since young people laugh more than other generations. There would be less joy and happiness, without exuberant youngsters roaming the land, playing, smiling, and engaging in pretend games. Young people are blessed with an intrinsic optimism, come what may. Without such hopefulness, our world would be much grayer.

The grandparent role would largely disappear, which would cast a shadow over the lives of seniors. It is undeniable that taking care of young grandchildren can be tiring. It is a responsibility we typically shoulder more at the same time our daily energy levels are starting to flag and sag. But taking care of young grandkids is invigorating. Seeing our grandkids frolic and smile, explore and learn, love and hug, is rejuvenating. Watching them grow and develop into young adults helps us recall our own childhoods. Grandchildren keep us oriented in time and space, and help us remain grounded in the realities and challenges of life.

*    *    *

My conclusion? The world is far better off including the younger generations. Actually, let’s wrap up these silly thought experiments about a world without young people or without old people. And let’s not even attempt to speculate about a society without the generations in between. It should be clear that any theoretical benefits from the absence of one generation or another would be far outweighed by the serious problems such an absence would create.

Some generational friction is inevitable, and I am certain this has been true throughout human history. But we are all allies. We need each other. Each generation enriches and adds its color to the fabric of society. Each brings its own strengths and shortcomings to the richly-woven quilt. Childhood would not be the same without old folks. And old folks could not survive without the young.

So as another year is wrapping up, I want to offer thanks that we are all in this together.

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November 2024

By Richard Fleming

Photo courtesy of Unseen Histories

I originally aimed to write a post on what a world without young people would look like, but decided it would be more important to offer a few thoughts on our recent presidential election. The post about young people will appear soon.

The results of this election pose challenges to everyone in our country, including the silver-haired generation. Why did Trump win, what may be ahead for seniors, and what can we do? I offer a few thoughts as an old guy who has been around the block a few times over seven decades. I know other seniors have different understandings of what just happened and what is ahead. My perspective is mine alone and I welcome other views.

I will start out acknowledging it is easy to get discouraged by this election. But old folks have shorter horizons than younger people, so we don’t have time to mope. We’ve lived through bad presidencies before. We know how to survive them and how to move forward. We need to buckle up and get ready for the challenges ahead.

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Why did Trump win? There will be extensive analyses of this question in the years ahead, but it was clearly due to multiple factors, not just one or two. New data will emerge to help our understanding and I don’t want to attempt an analysis here. But a notable point the media seems to be understating or late in communicating is that Trump did not win by a landslide. Although votes are still being counted, Trump’s popular vote count this year will be about 3% higher than he received in 2020, but 6% below Biden’s vote total in 2020. While Trump made gains in a number of demographic groups, these were relatively small. Trump won because Harris received 7 million fewer votes than Biden got in 2020. Democratic-leaning voters were not motivated to turn out. Trump won less than 50% of the votes cast in 2024. This is not a popular mandate for Trumpism.

*    *    *

What lies ahead for seniors? While everyone in the country will be affected in various ways, I want to focus on potential problems the Trump administration may create for those of us trying to live out our golden years with peace and stability. Of course it is impossible to know with certainty what is to come. But based on Trump’s words, his early appointments, and his track record, the following  problems are clearly within the realm of possibility.

Social Security. Trump and the GOP have repeatedly signaled their readiness to weaken Social Security (SS). They talk about raising the retirement age for benefit eligibility, even though longevity in the U.S. is declining. Trump’s promise to eliminate taxes on Social Security benefits may sound attractive, but it would weaken the SS Trust Fund. And if the budget deficit balloons under Trump, as many economists predict will happen, political pressure will increase to reduce government spending. And all safety net programs will be in the crosshairs.

Medicare and Medicaid. Trump and his backers feel government health insurance programs are too expensive and would be more efficient if they were turned over to private businesses. But health care cannot be provided effectively, equitably, and humanely if it is delivered by profit-making groups. Medicaid is especially disliked by Trump because he feels its beneficiaries are not really deserving.

Health insurance. Obamacare is squarely in the bullseye for the Trump administration. Trump wants to withdraw government support for this program and allow insurance companies to charge more for people with pre-existing conditions. Old age is by definition a pre-existing condition, so our health insurance will likely become more costly and with fewer benefits. Also, Trump’s policies will likely lead to higher drug prices, even though Americans already pay more for prescription medications than is the case in any other country.

Public health. Trump is committed to reducing and deregulating proven health safety measures. If another catastrophic pandemic breaks out in the coming four years, Trump will oppose mask and vaccine mandates. Seniors may end up being sacrificed on the altar of libertarian freedom. If RFK, Jr., is allowed to “go wild” on the FDA, CDC, HHS, and other agencies overseeing public health, seniors will end up in a dark creek without paddles. Looking at RFK, Jr.’s intentions, one saving grace for old folks is that we won’t be hurt if he removes fluoride from drinking water, since our teeth are already shot.

Inflation. According to most experienced economists, Trump’s tariffs will lead to higher costs on all imported products. Most seniors are on fixed income, and higher prices are the last thing we need.

Undocumented immigrants. Trumps’ vow to deport undocumented immigrants will be devastating to millions of hardworking taxpaying people who came to the U.S. for a better life. Many have lived in the U.S. for decades and have established deep roots in many communities. The people Trump wants to target support seniors in myriad ways, from caregiving, to food production, to service work, and other realms. The main damage from Trump’s policy will be to the immigrants themselves. But seniors will suffer as well.

The above just touches on what could await us Boomers and the Silent Generation in the years ahead.

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What can we do? Much has been made of the fact the guardrails which held Trump in check last time are now gone. While this is true as far as his appointees, the American people can serve as the ultimate guardrails. We can resist the anti-democratic, unconstitutional, corrupt policies he hopes to implement.

And seniors can be among the country’s strongest guard rails. Just because our stamina is slipping and we need to see our doctors more frequently does not mean we cannot write letters, make phone calls, attend public meetings, show up in officials’ offices, support pro-democracy organizations, and march in peaceful protests.

When seniors stand up for democracy, we are blessed with superpowers which can make our efforts surprisingly effective. Our graying hair, slower gait, and raspy voices afford us a special air of gravitas and a mantle of legitimacy. And we are motivated by self-interest. We have a special responsibility to challenge Trump, since he comes from our generation. We cannot allow our legacy to future generations to include Trump changing our country into a place we no longer recognize.

Of course, old folks cannot do this alone. We need to work with Gen X, Millenials, and Gen Z. Younger folks have more strength, stamina, and creativity than us old codgers. By working together, our efforts will be more successful.

As of November 5, 2024, we seniors have a new item added to our bucket list – serving as the ultimate guardrails against what Trump intends. Some of us can do more, and some can only do less. But every action we old folks take, whether big or small, will be a powerful statement for our generation’s values.

(Note: this post was updated November 24, 2024, to more accurately present the votes counted since the post was initially published.)

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October 2024

By Richard Fleming

Photo courtesy of Kimson Doan

We old folks sometimes feel invisible. A while back, I was walking along a beach in Maui, surrounded by beautiful young people frolicking in swimsuits, and I barely merited a glance. No eye contact. No acknowledgment of being alive and upright. Several few months ago I had to go to the grocery on a Friday night to pick up some food for the weekend. Most customers were young or middle-aged, since the oldsters had retreated to their homes hours earlier. As I moseyed down the aisles, I felt like a ghost. Not a glance, not a smile.

While such experiences are not unusual, they don’t happen everywhere. When my wife and I go to the Benicia Senior Center to pick up food for our Meals on Wheels delivery route, the center’s staff person smiles and says hello.

But it is common for Boomers and the Silents to feel society either ignores us or sees us as a burden. This can be true in the public arena, in commerce, in culture, and definitely in the political realm. Some political leaders say older women have no reason to concern themselves with abortion rights. Some say the age of Social Security eligibility should increase, even though life expectancy is dropping. And some feel spending on Medicare is excessive.

The other day I started to wonder what the world would be like if there were no old people. If we are irrelevant and burdensome, what if we no longer existed? What if society consisted exclusively of people up through age 60: just the young and the middle-aged? Mind you, I’m not advocating for this to happen. I offer it simply as a thought experiment, to see whether society would be better off without us.

*    *    *

There may be advantages to a world without the elderly. The vast and expensive array of safety net programs for seniors would become unnecessary. Nursing homes – most could be eliminated. Social Security in the U.S. – scaled way back. Medicare – ditto. Society spends vast sums of money helping the elderly and these funds could be redirected to youth-oriented projects. Federal spending could be reduced. Budget deficits might disappear. People’s taxes could be cut.

With more take-home income, young and middle-aged folks would have more money for discretionary activities. Vacation travel and entertainment spending would likely grow. The expansion of these leisure industries could provide employment opportunities for the millions of workers no longer needed by hospitals, clinics, nursing homes, medical equipment supply firms, home care agencies, optical sales offices, hearing aid manufacturing and distribution, and local Social Security offices, since these businesses would lose many of their “customers” if seniors disappeared from society.

And there is more! People would spend less time waiting in lines at retail establishments, since there would be no old people fumbling with their credit cards at the payment terminals, not knowing where to tap, dropping their cards on the floor.

If no one needed to worry about living into old age, lifestyles could become more flexible. Living to 60 requires much less work and effort than living to 80. People could tune out health care professionals nagging them to eat more fruits and vegetables and avoid ultra-processed foods. Those carping voices encouraging regular exercise could be dismissed as background noise. People entering middle age would no longer need to worry about having enough money to live in retirement, since retirement would be an unknown concept.

Parents would no longer be tasked with telling their young children to stop staring at old guys with walkers trying to shuffle across the street before the light turns red. And if there is no one over age 60, fewer parents would have to serve as grandparents, a role which can be exhausting.

Movies could be more uplifting. People would not need to suffer through films like “On Golden Pond” or “The Father.” Families could sit on their couches and stream the original seasons of “Matlock,” avoiding the contrived new remake featuring Kathy Bates as a septuagenarian lawyer coming out of retirement (even though it is a cute story). With no oldsters around to consume television programs, broadcast TV could disappear since young people only watch streaming services.

And, perhaps most importantly, we would not need to worry about 78-year-olds running for president and whether their cognitive state is intact and appropriate.

*    *    *

While such a vision of society sounds attractive, I would be remiss if I did not also mention some of the down-sides of a world without old people.

Without seniors, society would lose many of its storytellers. Old folks are amazing repositories of tales about family and what life looked like in the good old days. These stories help inform younger people about history, their ancestors, and society’s past. Such tales can be both interesting and useful. And they can help the younger generation build a better society in the future, avoiding the mistakes of the past.

A world with fewer grandparents could be quite burdensome. Grandparents provide great assistance to families by babysitting, providing financial support, and by conveying small gems of wisdom to the young. If children had no grandparents, their sense of family, life, and community would be much more limited.

If society no longer needed to spend money on support systems for the elderly, this money might end up being spent entirely on the needs and wants of the young. This could have the unintended consequence of leading society to become more self-indulgent and prioritizing the here-and-now. If no one lived past 60, there may be less concern for the future and what it might bring, since our individual futures would be quite short.

Negative impacts in the cultural realm could also appear. In the absence of movies featuring endearing old people, there would be less crying in theaters, and tears can be therapeutic. Popular culture might slip into de-emphasizing empathy and understanding, emotions which charming old people are uniquely positioned to foster.

*    *    *

I’m sure I’ve left out much of the good and the bad that would be manifest in a world without old people. But hopefully I have captured some key facets of what life would be like. So what do you think? Does a world without seniors sound better, healthier, and less stressful? Or does it seem less wise, less grounded, and less empathetic?

This thought experiment would not be complete without also considering what a world without young people would look like, and this will be the topic of my next post.

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September 2024

By Richard Fleming

Photo courtesy of Dominic Kurniawan Suryaputra

(In this post, I am not addressing cognitive problems from dementia, which are sad and crushing. My focus is on what happens in the course of “normal” aging.)

To be honest, there are often times when I don’t feel “older but wiser.” Older, yes. Wiser, not so much. And I think many seniors feel similarly.

So what does the cute phrase which sits atop this blog really mean?

To understand, it may be useful to look at how memory, intelligence, and wisdom evolve and as we grow old. These three characteristics are closely interconnected. But they are also distinct. The normal aging process produces changes in all three.

*    *    *

Let’s start with memory. All seniors begin to have trouble remembering things. It happens to all of us to varying degrees. And the problem typically tends to worsen as we grow older.

Using myself as an example, I tend to forget names. I often have trouble recalling past events, like where we went on vacation two years ago. Or the location I celebrated my 60^th birthday. Or where I put the stapler. Or why I walked upstairs to the bedroom this morning. These small gaps are frustrating, but pretty much inevitable with increasing age. Sometimes I can dig up the missing information by concentrating and thinking really hard about what I’m missing. But at other times it is more likely to come back if I stop trying and just wait for the missing information to pop into my head.

The memory problems of seniors stem from the same aging processes that affect all organs in our body. Cellular debris from normal metabolism accumulates, making neural connections less efficient. Neurons (our brain cells) shrink and their connections to each other slowly fray. Although the metaphor is inaccurate in many ways, I view my brain as a fixed-capacity hard drive. The storage capacity filled up at age 60 or so, and any new incoming information requires some existing data be deleted. I keep looking for a way to defrag my hard drive to increase its storage capacity, but so far no luck. If anyone has ideas, I welcome them.

*    *    *

Moving on to intelligence, this brain function relies on a good memory. But it involves more than simply being able to recall facts and data. Intelligence is the ability to process information, learn new concepts, and reason through complicated ideas. Because our memory tends to decline over time, it is not surprising our intelligence will follow a similar trajectory. It is hard to be smart when there are things we don’t know or can’t recall.

But for seniors, intelligence is often better preserved and declines more gradually than memory. Why? It is because a lifetime of making decisions can help us reason through complex situations more efficiently. Our brains benefit from years of experience, and this can offset some of the decline in memory.

An example from my own experience: older physicians often make difficult decisions as ably and reliably as younger docs. Young physicians typically have a larger database of facts readily available in their brains. They are more recently trained and their memories are more facile. But older docs can often navigate complicated clinical problems just as quickly as their younger colleagues. Their long years in practice equip them to understand a patient’s situation and arrive at answers more efficiently.

However, time inevitably catches up. As the years accumulate, the complex neural networks in our brains weaken. We begin to lose some of the efficiencies in neural processing that help counter the attrition in our memory. For those of us lucky enough to live into the upper age ranges, our intelligence will sooner or later fray around the edges. And this slippage will continue.

To apply this to my example above, if I were to develop a serious cardiac problem, I would be perfectly comfortable consulting with a cardiologist in her 60s but would be hesitant to see one in her 80s, even though both have great reputations.

*    *    *

Finally, let’s tackle wisdom. At first glance, wisdom and intelligence may seem identical. Smart people are commonly viewed as both intelligent and wise. But wisdom is not the same as intelligence. Wisdom is more nuanced and complex. Wisdom relies on understanding, empathy, and emotion. It requires good judgment and an ability to anticipate the consequences of decisions. Wisdom emerges from the ability to integrate intelligence into the complicated reality of life.

People can be very intelligent but not very wise. A high school economics teacher might be whip-smart about a range of economic theories but not wise enough to successfully explain them coherently to a classroom of 16 year olds. A politician may be very knowledgeable about a range of policy details but not wise enough to understand the impact of these policies on the real world, short term and long.

Intelligence tends to be detailed and quick. Wisdom tends to be generalized and gradual.

So how is it that seniors can become wiser as they grow older? Though wisdom benefits from memory and intelligence, it is not determined by them. Declines in memory and intelligence do not necessarily lead to less wisdom.

Wisdom requires a richness and depth of experience and understanding. And seniors accumulate these by the bucketful. Over the years, we live through the good and the bad. We see the impact of our decisions on others and ourselves. We live with how the actions of others affect us, our families, and our communities. With time, we tend to gain empathy, understanding, and judgment. We’ve been down many of these same roads before, and we know what lies around the next bend. We see and understand the world differently than when we were young.

And this enables us to gain a higher level of wisdom, even as our bodies and minds age and grow more fallible.

*    *    *

For seniors, our journeys into and through old age share many features in common. At the same time, each person’s experience is unique. Memory, intelligence, and wisdom do not change uniformly and follow the same time frame for everyone. Many factors impact whether we can grow older and whether we do become wiser. Your results may vary.

Speaking for myself, I am fortunate to still be growing older. I hope to gain more wisdom by living life as fully as possible. And I trust that at some point I will acquire enough wisdom to know how to grow old with perseverance, acceptance, dignity, and grace.

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September2024

By Richard Fleming

Photo courtesy of Mourad Saadi

I still find it challenging to accept the fact I live in the land of old-age. On the surface, I do not feel that different than 10 years ago, when I was in my early 60s. I wake up, have my morning coffee, read the paper, and embark on my day. Yes, I have some more aches and pains. The joints feel a bit stiff at times. But I have been lucky as far as serious health issues, and I just don’t feel like I’m elderly, an oldster, a dinosaur. I feel like I’m maybe halfway through middle-age.

But it is important to stay grounded in reality. And the reality is this: I am currently older than 90% of the population of the U.S. I don’t have to search an online encyclopedia to know I am a senior in every sense of the word – officially, unofficially, practically, socially, scientifically, medically, and culturally.

I realize, too, that I am seeing an increasing number of signposts which help clarify that I am a citizen of the nation of the old. In case anyone in my generation reading these words may also be in denial, I want to share some of the markers of old-age that I am coming to understand. A person can walk past – or experience – two or three and still be middle-aged, but once you get to four or more, the verdict is in. And there is no appeal.

• You decide to listen to an oldies station on a streaming service and are surprised it is filled with songs from the 2000s and 2010s.
• You’re watching a movie whose main characters are Gen Z, and you don’t understand most of the slang they use.
• Moving your joints creates noises people can hear across the room.
• You’re always on the lookout for chairs, wherever you are.
• Young people in the grocery store initially line up behind you, seeing that you are one cart away from the checker. But when they get a good look at you, they switch to a longer line because they assume you will take forever to figure out how to pay for your groceries.
• Cashiers in stores start telling you how and where to tap your credit or debit card on the terminal before you even get a chance to use the card.
• Millennials or Gen Z’ers you’re interacting with in public call you “young fella” or “young lady.” And they say these words loud enough for others to hear.
• You start needing to see the doctor four or more times per year.
• When you go out for coffee with friends, an increasing proportion of your time is spent talking about medical issues that you and your friends are experiencing.
• You start accumulating so many prescription medications they require two or even three shelves in the medicine cabinet.
• You always need the closed captioning turned on when you watch TV.
• The TV shows you are watching have commercials mostly about wheelchairs, medications, and nearby senior living options. And yes, you still watch broadcast television.
• You start regretting you do not live in a one-story home.
• Your weight starts to creep up year by year even though your eating habits have not changed. Human metabolism slows down in old age – a betrayal if there ever was one – meaning we must consume fewer calories to maintain a stable weight.
• It becomes significantly harder and more energy-draining to babysit your younger grandchildren now than it was to watch your older grandchildren when they were the same age.
• It takes all day to complete the basic chores and errands required to keep your home functioning. In the past, you could do them all while working full time and raising kids, and still have time for leisure activities.
• You start paring down your bucket list, as it becomes clear you cannot possibly accomplish all the goals you added to it when you were middle-aged.
• You start spending more time thinking about how your end-of-life will unfold, and what your legacy will be.
• Your oldest child turns 50.
• One of your children becomes a grandparent.
• Cuddling in bed at night feels as intimate as, well, you know…

Though I have not walked past every one of these markers of old age, I have experienced many. Enough to make my status clear. I am sure this list is not complete and welcome additions if you would like to leave a comment.

These signposts help define the boundary between the lands of middle-age and old-age. This boundary is not a brick wall we abruptly encounter one day on our expedition into the future. We are not middle-aged one day, old-aged the next. There is a zone, a period of transition as we cross from one land into the next.

But they are two separate worlds. And the thing is, once we have entered the realm of the silver-haired, we can never return to the land of the middle years. We may occasionally look back and see that world retreating behind us. We may recall the joys and trials of traversing the realm of middle-age. But we must continue our journey forward, moving further into the land of old-age, where we will discover its unique joys. And its unique trials.

*    *    *

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August 2024

By Richard Fleming

Photo courtesy of Francesca Tosolini

Since my last post, written three months ago, I remain as confused as ever about how to approach aging with calmness and grace. Fortunately occasional small insights and micro-understandings creep up on me, offering some measure of hope I will one day understand this journey.

Aging is a funny phenomenon. I hesitate to call it weird, for reasons I hope are obvious in this election season, but it is definitely strange. One example is how our relationship to physical objects changes as we move further into seniorhood. Consider chairs. Young people don’t give much mind to chairs. I know I rarely gave them a second thought when I was young. Back then, chairs served a single and useful purpose – they allowed me to sit down. They came in handy at mealtime, when talking with friends, when going to school, and sometimes at work. But they occupied little space in my head as I tackled my activities of daily living. Chairs were simple utilitarian objects I leveraged in pursuit of specific goals. Like eating, having discussions, studying. They were easy to leave behind when I needed to stand up.

I can’t say when my relationship to chairs first began to change; the shift occurred gradually. But as I move forward through my eighth decade of life, it has become apparent that chairs play an increasingly important role in my life. Let me explain. I will start by saying that sitting does not occupy all my time. I still like to stand and move around. My wife and I periodically take a walk for exercise. We walk when delivering food for Meals on Wheels. I need to be mobile to water our plants, sweep up leaves in the yard, and try to combat the fungi attacking our rose bushes. (So far the fungi are winning this battle.)

But I have to acknowledge that nowadays, sitting comes easier and occupies more of my time than it did previouisly. Take parties for example. I attend fewer than I used to. When they do occur I usually stand up for much of the time. But at some point I start scouting the room for an available chair. While I still have pretty good stamina for standing, sitting down can be really nice. Playing with my grandkids in the yard is fun and good exercise. But sooner or later I feel compelled to mosey over to one of the yard chairs to sit for a spell. There are any number of other situations where this same phenomenon plays out.

Another thing about chairs: once I am seated, it is a bit more challenging to stand up than it was in years past. I still can arise successfully, but it is now accompanied by a squinch of pain in my thighs and knees. Without being quite aware of it, I often find I’m using my hands and arms to help push myself up. It almost feels like chairs are applying  some magical force, a suction, to keep me sitting down. More than ever before, when my body is at rest, it tends to remain at rest. I tell myself not to become concerned when this happens. It is simply one of the basic principles of physics, discovered by Isaac Newton in 1687.

My comments about chairs apply equally to couches, recliners, and other devices used for seating. These objects no longer go unnoticed and unloved, dwelling in the background of my life. They have assumed more importance and significance. They facilitate me being able to live my life to the fullest. I see them. I value them. I no longer take chairs for granted.

Why am I spending time thinking about this phenomenon? I feel it illustrates how older people live in a different world than younger people. We may move through the same physical spaces, but the environment occupied by older folks is different than the one occupied by younger people. Our relationship to many physical objects changes as we age. Older people view and experience stairways differently than younger folks. When we are driving on a busy freeway, the cars darting in and out of traffic and speeding by elicit different emotions for us than for the young. Uneven sidewalks can be daunting. We engage differently with common household tools, especially hammers and anything which plugs into an electrical socket.

So, my friends, growing old is strange indeed. It is a journey of discovery, an adventure. It requires self-awareness, caution, and humility. And aging requires a high degree of luck. Every morning upon awakening I am thankful to still be walking toward the nearing horizon. And I am grateful for the seductiveness of chairs.

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May 2024

By Richard Fleming

Photo courtesy of Mark Paton

I could pick any number of body parts to complain about but today’s ire is directed at my ears. They are not functioning up to par. Many of my body’s organs have to perform complex jobs all alone. I have one nose, and it seems able to do its work without complaint. Ditto for my one mouth and one heart and one liver. Despite having no coworkers, they seem to function just fine. So what is up with my ears? I have two, but they are simply not fulfilling their job responsibilities.

Now, I do understand that being able to complain about my ears is a luxury and a matter of luck. I am fortunate to have most of my body parts functioning fairly well, as far as I know at the moment. I could have many more serious problems to rail at. But allow me a brief period of whining, then I will cease and desist.

My hearing loss first manifest about two decades ago when I was in my early 50s. I’ve been wearing hearing aids ever since. I admit to being a mite resentful about this problem. It was not self-inflicted by mistreatment of my ears in earlier years. I did not attend loud concerts nor did I blast my ears through headphones. For me it is a genetic issue. My father had early-onset hearing loss and had to wear bulky hearing aids starting in his 50s. Two of my three siblings have hearing loss also.

Actually, it took some time for me to realize my ears were on the fritz. For a while I had been having some trouble hearing patients in the exam room. I attributed the problem to them speaking too softly, combined with ongoing background noise from the ventilation system. But one day, after repeatedly asking a nice elderly lady to speak up, I realized it was unlikely all my patients had suddenly conspired to communicate with me sotto voce. It was time to sign up for a hearing test.

My audiogram showed a definite problem, especially in the higher frequency ranges of people’s voices. The audiologist recommended hearing aids and I reluctantly agreed to a trial. They surprised me. I found it easier to understand what patients were saying. And, not long after, my kids told me they’d noticed my hearing loss about a year earlier. They had been hesitant to say anything, fearing it would embarrass me. But when I started wearing hearing aids, it opened the door for them to tell me how frustrating it had been to talk with me.

The first few years, I was reluctant to use the hearing aids consistently. I would wear them exclusively in situations where it seemed hearing loss could be a problem. Seeing patients was an important venue, so I wore hearing aids in the exam room, though I had to remove them to use the stethoscope.

For some reason and for some time, I felt that wearing hearing aids was embarrassing. Society seems to stigmatize hearing aids more than other assistive devices, like glasses. Glasses are no big deal. They do not imply frailty nor are they a sign of old age. Glasses can even be a stylish accessory to alter one’s appearance. But hearing aids are viewed as a sign of withering, a marker of inability to function normally. They do not make a sophisticated fashion statement.

After a few years, I got past my hearing aid embarrassment phase. My patients helped by reassuring me it was fine to pop the devices out of my ears to listen to their lungs and heart. I eventually decided the heck with it, and began to insert my hearing aids in front of other people when I needed to hear better. I still occasionally catch a little side-eye from someone when I do so, though my perception may be more a reflection of some lingering feeling of awkwardness. It’s likely the person’s glance reflects curiosity more than a judgment about my frailty and oldishness.

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As time has passed, I have had to replace my hearing aids several times, and they seem to be getting a little better with each new version. But I have also found something else to complain about: hearing aid controls are becoming too technological, too sophisticated, and too complicated. When I first got hearing aids, adjusting them was straightforward. I turned them on and put them in my ears. I could increase or decrease the volume with a small rocker switch on the right heading aid. No big deal.

But today’s hearing aids require adjustment with a smartphone app. And the options for controlling them are myriad and mind-bending. I can – using the app of course – set multiple possible programs for the devices, including “noise/party,” “outdoor/traffic,” “(i)focus 360,” and others. Seriously, I have no clue what these programs do. I can change the “sound balance” to various settings between “sharp” and “soft.” What on earth do these concepts mean? And I can set up the hearing aids – using the app – to automatically connect to my cell phone. After two days of trying to accommodate that function, I was getting stressed out and my blood pressure was rising. I prefer a simpler life, one in which when the telephone rings, I hold it up to my ear and say, “Hello.” It took about 30 minutes of fumbling with the darn app to figure out how to disable that feature.

I do appreciate that companies which manufacture hearing aids are trying to make them better. They think that introducing lots of digitally-controlled fancy features will make these devices more useful. Well, I have a small piece of advice for these companies:

Hearing aids are principally used by old people, and most of us folks do not like using apps on our phones to control devices we need and use every day, including our hearing aids. Apps are complicated. Smartphone screens are small and hard to read. We don’t want app-controlled stoves, refrigerators, doorbells, canes, glasses, or vacuum cleaners. So please, just stop it.

OK, now I feel better. A little venting can be therapeutic.

I readily acknowledge that hearing aid problems pale in comparison to the other difficulties brought on by aging. Growing old is a mighty peculiar process. It can happen at various speeds for various people. Sometimes it advances as quickly as a thunderclap. One moment a person is fine and walking and talking and eating and smiling. The next moment the doctor’s office calls with some test results. Or a person’s heart decides it has had enough. Other times, aging proceeds slowly over the years, inexorably, chronically, bringing us down through a thousand small cuts. Hearing aids fall into this second category. They are just one more small nuisance as we journey onward. I should be grateful I can complain about them.

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On a different note, I want to let readers know I will be taking a break before publishing my next post. Since starting the blog two years ago, I have posted twice a month. The coming few months will be busy for my family and I won’t have time to continue this same schedule. I have plenty of topics to write about and will resume later in the summer or early fall.

I’m also considering redesigning the blog. I have not made any changes in its appearance and will look into several possible new formats. The content will remain largely the same. I will continue to ruminate, complain about, extol, bemoan, and celebrate this ever-more-complex journey through time we are making together.

And I promise to never use so-called artificial intelligence to generate my posts. My words and ideas are all of natural origin. Whether they reflect any form of intelligence remains to be seen.

I deeply appreciate and am sincerely grateful to you for reading these posts and for your comments. I have learned from you, and the sharing of ideas and experiences helps make our trek into the future more understandable and somewhat easier. Thank you.

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May 2024

By Richard Fleming

Photo courtesy of Gilberto Parada

My wife and I were awakened by a phone call at 6:03 am on Sunday, April 28. It was Cora, the manager of the care home where my younger brother lived. “I’m sorry to call so early, but Chris is not doing well,” she said. His oxygen level was dropping despite supplemental oxygen. He was not responding to people’s voices. His breathing had become a bit labored and he had been given a small dose of morphine a couple of hours earlier. We had enrolled Chris in hospice in early April because of recurrent aspiration pneumonia, dementia, and Down syndrome. While we knew his time was limited, we were not expecting this particular call at this particular time.

We should not have been surprised, since an omen appeared several hours before the phone rang. My wife’s bedside light turned on spontaneously in the middle of the night. That happened once before, 16 months ago, when another family member experienced a significant health problem. We should have known the light was turning on for Chris.

After the call, my wife and I got out of bed, braced ourselves for whatever may lie ahead, brewed coffee in to-go cups, and drove to the care home. Along the road, I called my sister, who lives in the area, to come as soon as she could.

When we arrived at Chris’ bedside, the sun was an hour above the horizon, the sky was cloudless, and the air was cool. Cora, her face grim, quickly ushered us in to Chris’ room. A hospice nurse sat at his bedside. She gave us a report on his status. He had another lung infection and it was clear his time on earth was drawing to a close. I texted our older brother in Colorado, who quickly responded he would fly out that afternoon.

Chris appeared serene. His eyes were closed and he was breathing slowly. We tried rousing him, but he made no movement. We spoke to him, telling him we were there, letting him know we loved him and that things would be OK. While he did not respond, we hoped our words would breach the barriers to the outside world which were quickly rising in his brain and provide him some sense of solace and security.

His breaths became raspy again and the hospice nurse gave another dose of morphine. His coarse breathing improved and his respirations slowed further, down to six breaths a minute for a while, then to four.

The nurse excused herself, since she had other patients to see that morning. The people left in the room with Chris were our sister, my wife, and myself. We sat surrounding him, hands resting on his shoulders and feet, periodically letting him know we were there. His breathing slowed to three breaths a minute. Then two. Then Chris took one last breath. It was deep and calm. Full but final. We waited. But he had no more breaths to take. After 61 years of a vibrant, challenging, and joyful life, Chris died.

We told him we loved him and to take care, and we asked him to say hello to mom and dad. Did Chris hear our words? Impossible to know, but they issued from our hearts more than from our minds, and had to be spoken aloud.

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A commonly-held notion is that a person does not truly become an adult until both parents die. This concept makes sense. It is only after the protective parent figures in our lives are gone that we are fully on our own.

There is a corollary idea I’m beginning to embrace: a person does not fully enter old age until they lose a sibling. It is then that we truly appreciate what old means and what old feels like. (This corollary applies to people who are at least in their 60’s, since young people can tragically lose a sibling.) I’m in my early 70s, and I know that many people in my age range have lost a sibling. But it is the first time for me. And the impact has been profound.

Losing anyone – a parent, a spouse, a close friend – is incredibly painful. Losing a child is a pain beyond any possible measure.

Losing a sibling is different. It is painful, but in a unique way. The loss of a sibling makes a forceful statement about the brevity of life. When you lose a brother or sister, it transforms you. You had the same parents. You shared countless childhood experiences known only within your family. As you grew up together, you jointly wove a tapestry of life so rich and complex it is impossible to explain fully to anyone else, including your spouse and close friends. When you lose a sibling, you lose someone who played one or more important roles in your life – colleague, comrade-in-arms, crew member, peer, competitor, confidante, friend.

Chris’ death has precipitated much reflection. He was a brother, but having Down syndrome, he was much more than a sibling. It is hard to explain, but he was always present, always there, every day of my life, even though he mostly lived with other people. In the days after Chris died, my two remaining siblings and I, along with my wife, spent hours around the lunch and dinner tables, talking, ruminating, and deconstructing our family’s ups and downs over the six decades of Chris’ life, and even the years before he was born. Many things became clearer, though there is still much to sort out. Chris’ influence on our family was profound. His life largely governed where we lived. His life impacted what we thought and felt about our family and each other. It significantly influenced the way our parents treated us. Though small of stature, his presence in our lives was massive.

Chris’ death has closed the door on some important parts of my family’s evolution. It has impelled me to reconsider parts of my past and my future. I will continue living, hopefully for many more years, but it will be without my younger brother.

I feel more like a senior now than I did before Chris died.

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All of Chris’ belongings are now sitting in our garage, in random sacks and boxes. Someday we will need to sort through them, but not today and not next week. One thing I retrieved was his eyeglasses, which I placed on top of the piano in our entryway. I see his glasses every time I walk by. Sometimes I touch them. They provide a small measure of comfort and remind me of times past, before the door closed, when Chris graced our home and our lives, smiling, and arguing, and joking, and crying, and walking, and breathing, and frequently saying, “I love you” for no apparent reason. Seeing his glasses makes me feel happy and sad. And they make me feel older, but not in a depressing way. It is hard to explain, but they help me feel more at peace with my place on the path as I navigate hesitantly into the future.

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April 2024

By Richard Fleming

I want to open with warm thanks for all the well wishes for my brother Chris, who recently entered hospice, and for our family. Your words are very meaningful.

I also want to acknowledge the many insightful comments you have made to my posts since I started this blog in August 2022. I have not been responding in the comments section, but I appreciate your thoughts and feedback and have learned much from your perspectives. I am inspired to see how we support each other on this journey into the ages. And it is helpful to learn the strategies people are using to chart their paths forward. Please continue sharing your ideas and experiences.

If you enjoy reading my blog posts, I would be honored if you encouraged your friends, family, and random strangers to subscribe. Subscriptions are free and will bring an email notification to your inbox whenever new posts appear. Subscribers will not be subjected to marketing or advertising.

Photo courtesy of Aaron Burden

Reminiscence is a common pastime for older folks. When we look back, it is gratifying when our memories yield more smiles than frowns. But it is common to see decisions we made in our youth that we would approach differently, if do-overs were an option. Some people see many things they would change. Others – the fortunate ones – see only a few. Of course, there is little point in dwelling on such matters. The past has passed. Not much can be accomplished by speculating on how we coulda, shoulda, woulda lived our lives differently.

At the same time, it can be an interesting exercise to reflect on decisions made earlier in life and how they impact us today. Doing so might help us understand ourselves better and inform the choices we are confronting today. After all, we old folks are still making decisions in the here and now that will impact who we become in the future. We may be old, cranky, and stiff, but we are still growing and developing. I expect I will be a different person when and if I reach my 80s. And I think that is true for many seniors.

In the spirit of learning and reflecting, I’ve recently been thinking what I would say in a letter to my 16-year-old self. What would I advise that young guy, standing on the threshold of adulthood? While some elements of my letter may be similar to what others would write to their younger selves, much of it is different. When I was young, my situation and my choices were unique to my situation, growing up in the 1950s and 60s in Topeka. For other seniors, their youthful years unfolded in very different situations with very different choices. Their letters sent back in time would reflect their upbringing and their reality.

So, here is what I’ve come up with.

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Dear Richard,

I know you’re getting close to wrapping up your junior year at Topeka High, and you’ve got tests and papers to prepare for. But I hope you can take a few minutes to read this letter from your future. It is impossible for you to know what your life will be like five and a half decades from now. But I want to mention a few things to consider as your childhood wraps up.

Overall, you’re a good person. You’re doing well in school. You have a fair number of friends. You have close connections with some whom you will still be talking with regularly when you’re in your 70s. Be grateful for these friendships. Nurture them. Do not take them for granted.

An area you might want to work on is family connections. While your relationship with mom and dad is good, consider spending more time talking with them about their childhoods and early adult years. You know mom grew up in Baton Rouge and was the first in her family to go to college. But you’ve never talked with her about what it was like growing up in the South, how she decided to go to college, what her two siblings thought of this decision, and why she joined the Army during World War II.

Ditto with dad. His upbringing in New York City during the Great Depression was eventful, but you’ve never asked him much about it. You know he was a paratrooper during WW II and was in active combat zones in the Philippines. He parachuted onto Corregidor and brought back his parachute with a bullet hole in it. But you’ve never sat down with him on a cold Kansas winter night in front of a warm fireplace to ask him how he felt about his wartime experiences.

You should also spend time getting to know your grandparents, uncles, aunts, and cousins. You’ve had little contact with them. Write them letters. Call them on the phone.  As your 72-year-old future self, let me tell you I miss knowing more about our family. It is a sizable hole which can no longer be filled in.

Three last pieces of advice: (1) You should exercise more. You’ll feel better and be healthier 50 years from now. Plus it can be fun. (2) Please eat better. Less fast food. Bobo’s burgers are delicious, but they will linger on your frame for decades to come. You will feel better and look better 50 years from now with a healthier diet. (3) It’s probably too late for this last one, but I wish you had signed up for shop class at Roosevelt Junior High. Your life will be so much easier in the years ahead if you know what torx and hex screwdrivers are and understand how to use socket wrenches, ballpeen hammers, and other basic tools.

These suggestions might seem unnecessary or inappropriate. But please consider that your decisions in the next few years will reverberate and echo long into your future. Trust me on this, they will in large measure determine who you will be at age 72. No pressure, young man. Just choose wisely. I’ll be here waiting for you.

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Well, writing this letter was mildly therapeutic. There are so many other things I should have done differently as a youth, but I’m not going to spend a lot of time thinking about them. If I’d lived a perfect life as a teenager, I would likely have become an incredibly boring adult. And, who knows, maybe I would not have ended up living in California and would have had a very different family. I must have made enough good choices as a young fella, since I am happy living in the Bay Area and have a wonderful family.

So, maybe there is little to be gained from writing a letter to my younger self. Perhaps in the spirit of sharing wisdom I should write a letter to my 85-year-old self? Naw, for a couple of reasons that would not be a useful way to spend my time. First of all, the garage still needs to be decluttered. And secondly, if I make it to 85, I’ll likely be even more crotchety and less willing to listen to advice from a young guy who’s only 72 years old. What could he possibly know?

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