Somewhere

(Self-portrait at Papineau, March 24, 2012)

Where am I these days? Somewhere between the intimate familiar and the anonymous stream of the city. We're still living downtown while the renovation work continues on our apartment, and during that time we're traveling between a hotel, our apartment, and our studio using a combination of the metro, buses, our feet, and our car. The trip that used to take 15 minutes now takes 45 each way, but it's interesting: we slide into the flow and become riders, watchers, waiters, learning new paths and signs: the African shop at Peel; the Caribbean guitarist who plays each morning at the foot of the Papineau escalator; the searchlight on top of Ville Marie sweeping through the night sky.

One result of all the travel and moving around I've done over the last decade is that I've become much more comfortable with dislocation and change. I used to be very rooted to my home, which was very much my "home base," and it would take me a long time to adjust to being somewhere else, or to disruptions in daily life. Now I'm OK with living out of a suitcase for a while, or that odd feeling of waking up and not being quite sure, for those first minutes, of where I am. I used to experience a lot more anxiety, both before and during travel. The circumstances that have caused this shift have not all been happy or fortuitous, though some have; I guess that's just life and getting older, because change happens whether we want it or not. We can adjust, or we can fight it and suffer.

I had a long talk with a friend recently, about those sorts of things. She was thinking about her eventual retirement from a demanding, intense career, and beginning to plan ahead. We both observed that some people spend years in denial about aging and the changes that it brings, and then get blindsided because they simply aren't prepared once they actually retire, or face some limitation caused by health, a partner's death or illness, or some other change in life situation. It's as if some people become more reed-like as they age, more capable of coping with the gales that inevitably strike, and others become more brittle, more fragile, more prone to bitterness, anger,  and remorse, and as a result, they often isolate themselves. What are we identified with? A job? Professional prestige? Children? Marriage? A home, a lifestyle? Physicality? Being "in the loop?"

I used to feel so much more brittle and fearful as I thought about what might happen, but now, as that "ïf" comes closer, I can see that I'm actually becoming somewhat softer, more flexible and more resiliant, more able to go with the flow of things -- and that gives me hope. Curiosity helps, humor helps...but mainly I think we have to face reality, think ahead, develop real interests and relationships that can sustain us later on, and, if possible, put ourselves into situations that mimic some aspects of a potential future. For me, that definitely won't be shuffleboard in Florida...!

(Hmmm...just noticed that this is my 1400th post since moving the blog to TypePad in May 2005.)

Comments

[Mary]

Beth,
This is a subject that is on my mind a lot as I am in my sixties. I feel rooted at home, with all my close friends here, yet my son is far away in California. I thought your move to Canada was an incredibly courageous one. Have you ever thought of writing more about your actual move, about the impetus to go and the challenges and anxieties as well as hopes for the future? Maybe your next book?

[Rachel Barenblat]

We talked a lot about these kinds of changes in the Sage-ing class I took last year. I think you're right that as we age, some become more flexible and others seem to become more brittle. I admire so much that you are taking the first of those two paths.

[rr]

You wouldn't be *allowed* to play shuffleboard in those heels!

[marly youmans]

I would say that you are growing older in a very pleasant style! Must say that the numbers don't bother me any more. (Lack of bones, now: that bothers me! But that's lucky, as one then feels motivated to do something about it.)

[Dale Favier]

Martha and I are often startled to note how far out of the mainstream we are in thinking often and easily of decrepitude and death. Things like buying a single-story house partly because in twenty or thirty years one or both of us might not be able to negotiate stairs, that seems neither morbid nor odd to us. We're planning on getting feeble and dying: hopefully not too soon, of course, but it's not up to us. People tend to inquire if you're depressed, if you say such things in public, or to respond as if you're letting down the team by imagining such things. Surely the alternative is violent, sudden death? How is that less depressing? You can't make the world go away by closing your eyes.

[mike]

Great photo.

[Loretta]

You have crystallized what I've been grappling with over the last few years. I find I am not afraid of what is going to happen as I am about how the people around me will react to it. You both seem to have the same attitude toward life's changes, which I think is crucial to the success of long term relationships.

And high heeled boots help!

[Kim]

I had a long conversation with my best friend today about identity. I have just spent some time reading backwards through your blog entries, and oh, Beth, how I have missed you. My life has been in a great deal of upheaval and I stopped reading blogs completely for a while. One major issue for me right now is my identity. With my children growing up, older family members growing sick and even dying, my place in this world feels uncertain. Your posts are a comfort to me. Thank you, lovely Beth.