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| No. Just say "No". |
I have always been the odd one in the crowd. Anytime I hear a collective stampede towards some new, amazing fandangle I run the other way. (And after people watching for almost 50 years , I'm really okay with that.) My clothes rarely reflect current trends, (I dress for comfort, not style) my favorite activities are almost never on anyone's "Ooh, Let's Do This!" list (this does not include exploring abandoned buildings and any time spent in water balloon fights) and I see what I buy as things rather than extensions of myself.
Being
born into a culture which worships perpetual youth has really underscored this
difference. Don't get me wrong, being
young was fun (at times) but being self-absorbed, ignorant, tormented by the
opinions of others and led around by the nose was not. And while those around me were oblivious to, baffled
or horrified by the idea of getting older, I was excited about it. Even at sixteen. (That's not to say I was a frumpy, fussy old
lady in my youth. I wasn't and
unfortunately they had Polaroid cameras back then.)
To me, aging was something to be anticipated. It meant arrival. Gray hairs were beautiful, glittering prize-ribbons
for wisdom. Wrinkles were "laugh lines"
displaying character. It would be the
age of understanding things. Of being in on the secrets and getting all
the jokes. Looking towards
long-stretched years through those eyes I believed by the time I'd spent half a
century in my skin I would be exactly who I was with no more worries about the
perceptions of others and the business of living would be a roller-coaster
adventure that would somehow make sense.
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| Life making sense... |
Granted,
certain nuances of the reality have been different from the ideal (waking up
and getting out of bed, for instance. Or
trying to find clothes I would want to wear at this age). But on the whole, I was pretty close to right, and while I could name
several reasons to validate a less than eager approach to aging, please allow
me to pop a few bubbles:
First:
You can be 19 forever if you just think
happy thoughts. (Uhm, no.) I've watched humanity (kinda
like driving past a really long train wreck), so I get the desperate need to
deny aging. (Sort of.) For most, growing older only means dying and mated
to the fact we're not given a comforting way in which to regard our mortality, that's terrifying. In our culture, death
isn't a natural transition with positive overtones. It's a horrific, grief-filled trauma over
which we, the victim, have no control. And
as if this mindset isn't enough to make us cling in screaming desperation to
youth, religion has terrorized us with what might happen to us after death. (That alone is enough to turn some towards
atheism.) So, I get it. Mortality is scary stuff. But then, so is driving to the store (have
you been on the road lately!?), or
walking down the street (there's a whole broken-down circus of crazy out there,
people!).
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| copyright, unknown |
But
the fact is mortality is going to catch up with us eventually. (Not if,
people, when.) We may not know how, but it's a given. And racing around frantically pretending it
won't is the adult equivalent of putting your fingers in your ears, screwing your
eyes shut and shrieking "Old McDonald had a farm" at the top of your
lungs. (Which, by the way, has not been
proven to be a sufficient antidote against it.)
For
those who are interested, the alternative to mortality denial is acceptance. Accept that one day you are going to
die. (Not obsess. Just accept.) Things will get put into perspective really fast. Because death is the Great Leveler. Think about it. If there's a really awesome sale at your
favorite store but it's only for a week, you'd make special efforts to get
there. Deadlines, people. We live for them. When we're forced to make choices with a
deadline on the horizon, we get stuff
done. Well, dying is the ultimate
deadline. Knowing we only have so many
years can give us permission to be braver and happier. After all, trying new things and letting go of the stupid, petty
stuff that sucks all the joy out of being here are hugely beneficial to the quality of life.
Next
bubble: Only in youth are we able to enjoy
life to the nth degree. (Really? Really?)
Were your early years truly the most exciting, stimulating, be all and
end all of what you've experienced? Because
mine sure as hell weren't. No
confidence. No courage. No, self-awareness. No wisdom. Stripped of the current illusion, most will remember
the reality of youth; stress-filled, awkward, groping, agonized, stumbling in
the dark, trying to fit in, and figure ourselves out while at the same time attempting
to understand how the hell we wound up in the messes we got into.
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| This in no way resembles anything from my youth... |
The
image of the suave, sexy, smart, self-confident, world-conquering man/woman-child with
the sultry eyes, bottomless bank account and plump pout is a posed,
photo-shopped package. It's an anesthetizing
marketing tool created on the back of our mortality panic and low self-esteem to
get us to buy crap we don't need. (And
it's a fairly recent one given that less than 70 years ago the majority of commercial
ad images were targeted at people over 30.)
With our thinking intentionally skewed by people trying to sell stuff, we now live as if only the young
are equipped to fully realize the human experience. (Provided they continually bankrupt themselves
to get the newest yeehaw, of course.)
But think about it for a moment. Could
it be possible this ideal is based on the fact young people are way more impulsive
and much more inclined to spend money without thinking about the repercussions? I mean, how many older folks (outside frantic
Peter Pans and compulsive, cougar-moms trying to screw their way back to
high school) do you see taking out a mortgage to buy the latest geegaws, fads
and gadgets?
Last
One: We
are at our most valuable when we're young.
16 - 29 is the only age range society grants any real merit to. Outside
observation makes this one easy to understand.
Our culture, under siege by a vacuous (fancy word for empty-headed),
shallow adolescent fantasy, considers this the ripest time of sexual
attractiveness. In other words, (crass
and profane though they are) this is when you will peak on
the F*ck Meter. Broken down in even
simpler terms- it's the optimum time for you to be judged by shallow people
in the hopes they will give heavy props to how you look (never mind who you are)
and use that to decide whether or not they would 'do' you. (Which in our sad, twisted collective somehow
grants people status.)
Looked
at it from this angle it's pretty sickening.
When a society collectively buys into the standard that the way an individual will
be treated, whether or not they will achieve their goals and how happy they will
be is dictated by whether or not ethically-depraved, emotionally-stunted
narcissists would fall down on top of them for a few minutes there is something
drastically putrid infecting it.
So,
to break this whole thing down for you - the Fountain of Youth we are so
obsessed with is, in actuality, the Bog of Eternal Stench. It's a rancid, life-numbing, soul-stealing, slogging
state of sleep-walking consumerism and non-existence. You see proof of it almost every time you go anywhere people collect. A sixty-five year old approaching the world
as if they were perpetually celebrating their twenty-first birthday by looking
to get rated high on the collective F*ck Meter is a heart-breaking and
disturbing thing to see. Just
as unsettling is a nine year old leaving the house looking like a twenty-five
year old adult film star trying to make rent.
But
when people are unable to find value in a society which denies any significance
to age outside the established, marketable parameters, what choice is there? Humans want to belong. They need to belong. It's hard-wired into our DNA, our lizard-brains,
our Ego, and our ID. We need to be a
part of the tribe and find reassurance that our existence has meaning, that we
are in fact 'real' and have value to the whole.
Meeting this need is one of those vital components which completes us. It's what motivates us to keep on living,
keep on giving and brings us joy.Sadder still, immersed in a constant bombardment of "you must be forever young", we have all but lost our understanding of the point of living. We no longer value life in the reality of the act but instead fight to build an illusionary self. Adapting this proxy existence, we waste the vast majority of our time between working to buy things to accentuate our 'pretend' lives and monitoring the world around us for our approval ratings. And in all this buying and pretending and monitoring we've stepped away from the rewarding process of living; entering a world in which everything is amazing and new, exploring and experiencing all the aspects of that world first-hand and finally, the ultimate beauty of cultivating and understanding it.
Age, people. Experience life, both the good and the
bad. Get messy. Get dirty. Grow some scars and a few bruises.
Cry. Love. Laugh out loud. Get older, wiser, bolder!
Take the face-lift money and travel! Forego the boob-job or tummy tuck and rent a van and drive 17 hours to the beach just to feel the freaking sand on your toes! Or stay home and watch movies and eat something besides salad without counting the calories. Wave at people without sucking in your stomach. Cultivate wrinkles and character. Let that grey hair shine! Grin
wide enough to show all those teeth. (God knows, we paid enough for
them.) Buy stock in muscle rub and thumb your nose at society.
Screw Neverland. Stay right here and help build a place where we give
value to living. Make it to the top of that hill and throw a party! Strap
on the harness and ride the zip-line or meander your way down!
Because we're all going to get to the bottom one day. And I'd rather see
you celebrated for you laughter and your life than "duck-lips", flat-screens and where you landed on the F*ck
Meter.
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| copyright, unknown |
SO TRUE!
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