I have always loved the arrival of spring with its upstart buds and tender breezes. Just what we need after a stretch of frigid months, don’t you think? I have always loved the sultry heat of July and August; personally, I’m happier and more active as temperatures soar. And I have always loved the ease with which the last steamy days of summer yield to autumn’s cooler mornings, especially as the foliage begins to set itself aflame. But autumn into winter? The darkening skies and bone-chilling rains?
That particular change of seasons is — and always has been — a challenge for me. What gets me through, usually, is knowing that eventually, however brutal the months of cold and snow may be, spring will return. Spring always returns…
This year, and at this time in my life, I can’t picture how “spring” will look. What form it will take. If I will be able to enjoy even a tiny taste of it.
Clearly, I’m feeling the effects of passing through three full seasons in a bubble, largely shut-in, unable to be with friends or family. Among those effects — I’m quicker to tears. I’m quicker to anger.
Seasons Are Reassuring… Sometimes
The seasons change, obviously. If we have the resources to enable freedom of movement (and the will to exercise that freedom), we can flit from region to region according to timeframe and preference (hello, snowbirds?), or we can settle in a region where our preferred climate offers the spring-like, summer-like, or chillier temperatures (and pursuits) we may enjoy.
But for most of us, based on family, life event, job change, and so on, wherever we land becomes the location that we accept with its rhythms of seasonal change, however gentle or extreme. And don’t we come to count on that change in ways we may not fully realize? Doesn’t the constancy of Mother Nature’s cycles provide reassurance in a chaotic world?
Even if we’re entering a season we may not like (for me, that’s anything more than a few weeks of winter), we tell ourselves that change is good, change is necessary, change offers opportunities.
But not all change is good or easy or desirable; we know that too. Some “routine” changes may be acceptable to one person and miserable for another. The determining factors are many: our propensity for change and the tools we possess to deal with it; the support systems we can access for help; individual character and temperament; money to purchase advice or assistance; learned or inherent coping skills; our circumstances at a given point in time; and more. God knows, most of us were (and are, still) utterly unprepared for the breadth of devastating change that 2020 has unleashed on millions of people. Losing a loved one. Losing a job. Losing a home. Losing hope.
For some — the lucky ones? — the changes brought by these past months are not the absolute worst, but rather a process of slow erosion on many levels. Health deteriorates (due to the absence of “maintenance” care, delays in procedures, cancellation of services, fear of entering a clinic or hospital). Savings or other financial wherewithal, despite years of planning and discipline, are wiped out (due to absent or decreased paying work, with or without the ability to access unemployment). The mental health impacts of little to no human contact are self-evident; we have only to reference statistics on depression and addiction.
Aging Gracefully? I’m (Surprisingly) Bad at It
For some, and I include myself in this group, beyond the erosion I just mentioned, there is a change of seasons in terms of aging. Yes, of course, we’re all aging. And as we move from one age group into another, however artificial these demographic notions may be, the impact of doing so without the usual routines, conventions, milestone celebrations, and social connections may be more intense. Aging — aging badly — may feel accelerated. It may be accelerated. And it ushers in a surprisingly severe set of emotions — fear, for me, perhaps the most acute.
Growing older? Feeling it? Seeing it reflected in the mirror?
In the face of so much suffering and so much loss in this year of Covid-19, the process of accepting one’s own change of seasons seems utterly unimportant. (I tell myself precisely this daily.) When I experience my own distaste for my reactions to this process, I chide myself for the personal battle that ensues. I tell myself I’m being silly. I lecture myself. I present the “positives” as I see them (admittedly, not an easy task!). I remind myself that every day is a choice (and sometimes that reminder actually works).
Despite my good intentions, the struggle of acceptance remains, in part because I feel useless. (I’m not of course, but the feeling persists.) And this struggle of acceptance is worsened in isolation as the world “outside” feels shakier by the day with its dizzying onslaught of frightening news. (Bald-faced lies about a fraudulent election in the US, discussions of martial law, Russian cyberattacks — none of this helps!)
Like the seasons, the changes in our bodies are physical (and psychological) alterations that we carry with us every waking moment. We weather them in individual ways, and individual circumstances dictate the manner in which we accommodate, battle, or accept these changes.
As for me, I do my best to set my aging-related concerns aside, easier on days when I’ve had adequate sleep and the pain of my usual inconvénients is less front and center. I do this by stacking my issues on a sort of mental “ignore this” shelf, managing this process impeccably on some days and abysmally on others, muddling through the bad days by understanding that isolation intensifies negative feelings. And an isolated holiday season intensifies those feelings further. Knowledge is a wonderful thing! And this knowledge enables me to get through the days when my shelving process fails.
Facing My Shortcomings
Through all this interior churning, I continue to chide myself. Yes, I mean the “come on, girl, get it together” refrain as well as stern directives not to complain about anything, which I struggle with, so I become more silent. More withdrawn. More comfortable (frankly) in that withdrawal. And yet, I also continue to count my blessings, each and every day: My sons are ok; I have food in my fridge; I have a roof over my head. Millions around the U.S. (and the world) are not so fortunate.
Still, in all honesty, I wish I were stronger. I wish I felt less invisible. Less powerless. Less fragile.
Recently, I marveled as I looked out my window, mesmerized by the beauty of the season’s first snowfall. I was inside in a warm room. I was protected from the harshness of the temperature. And at the beginning of the season, I am generally able to distance myself from my dislike for the cold and the much shortened days. Because the holidays are upon us, however surreal our limited and solo celebrations may be, appreciation for the fundamentals is accessible: Vaccinations against Covid-19 will proceed throughout the coming year; we can hope that by the following year some sense of “normalcy” will return; the current (crazy) occupant of the White House will be living in a different zip code. Additionally (and on a more personal level), I am able to keep my mind busy and functioning (most days), and with a bit of luck, my pain management issues will again be addressable through physical therapy in six months to a year’s time.
Facing My Reality
The toll of this past year — in health, in finances, in anything resembling a plausible future — is not something I can avoid confronting. And my sense of aging, the reality of my aging so intensified, is part of that package.
In the big picture, this last will eventually become a small, irrelevant issue — because it must. It will pale in the shadow of other issues — health, finance — albeit related to those issues, of course. And it will become a season of change that I will accept — because I must.
Now, that acceptance appears to have a stubbornly recurring point of exception. Yup. Gray hair, which I can’t seem to tolerate, and I rejoice (quite literally, however absurdly) when I can get my hands on “paint” to wipe out that treacherous, traitorous sign of the years passing. While some women are stunning with silver hair, I am not among them. (Trust me, it’s true.)
But let me be clear. My aversion to this particular change isn’t about vanity. It’s the inability to recognize myself at a time when myself is all I have. And it’s also a matter of practicality; gray hair ages me 10 years. And that makes me even less marketable than I already am by virtue of the year of my birth — socially and professionally less marketable, more critical in a post-Covid future than ever — in a society that remains youth- and appearance-obsessed. This, despite theoretical regulations or rhetorical protestations to the contrary.
Do you chide yourself for worrying about things that you tell yourself are unimportant in the grand scheme? Are you facing the holidays alone? Are you acquiring new skills for coping with the many changes and losses this past year has brought? Are you finding any opportunities in those changes? If you are managing these challenges on your own, how is it going?
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This has been a difficult year for many of us. I, too, have felt a transition from “une femme d’un certain age” to an old lady that servers call “dear” I have always relied on travel to provide me with “alternate lives”. Continuing to work has helped me to feel useful. My mother’s end of life is drawing near. The pandemic has taken away many of our possibilities of escape (evasion?) The spring that will surely come will be different from those we have experienced in other years. Take care.
Thank you for stopping by, Joanne. Yes, it is precisely that transition that feels worsened than ever anticipated during this strange, troubled time. Both of my parents have already passed — it has now been many years – but you have my sympathy and understanding of the challenges you are facing relative to your mother. Sending a virtual hug. (And thank you for getting it.)
I’m experiencing so many changes as well- my 23 yr old son just left today on a plane for Tokyo for 2 yrs of Grad School from 6 years of studying, work and focused efforts on his part-doing it with COVID rules and mandatory quarantine when he gets there has added to our challenges.
My daughter is engaged as of last week and she and her fiance are moving across the country to Austin in 2 weeks with a surprise baby on the way in the Spring.
All of them had moved in with me the last 2 yrs so it’s a lot of adjustment coming for me soon.
Hey Nancy Kay. Yeah, that “flying the nest” thing is a massive adjustment, especially when you’ve been the only or primary parent. Tokyo! Wow! And with COVID restrictions going on. Bravo to him! (And how cool – a surprise baby!)
Wishing you a healthy and (hopefully!) happy holiday season.
YEP……..I TOO HAVE AGED IN THIS PAST YEAR WITH MORE GOING ON FOR ME THAN THAT IDIOT IN THE White House! I SEE MY MOTHER AS I PASS A MIRROR IN MY HOUSE…….
THE BODY IS NOT FUNCTIONING UP TO SPEED AND I AM DOING NOTHING!
I MOVE FROM CHAIR TO CHAIR!
I LOST MY VISION READING THIS….. PART OF MY EPISODES I HAVE ENDURED FOR 5 YEARS NOW!
YOU HANG IN THERE!
THATS AN ORDER……… XXX
You’ve certainly been through it, Elizabeth. You hang in there, too! (And I get it, the seeing your mother in your mirror thing. Yup. Unsettling.)
xo
Changing of the seasons is a great metaphor. I find this piece particularly meaningful, as it speaks directly to my current psychological place.
You mention you feel useless, withdrawn, and OK with it. I feel very similarly, although in my case I think the most precise word is “irrelevant”. I too feel more withdrawn, and in some inexplicable way, accepting. It feels more natural than I would have thought. I mentioned in a previous comment that life has become smaller. This is part of it.
My feeling is it’s not only valid but imperative to pay attention to the reality of our own experiences. It seems disrespectful to self to discount the truth of your own experiences because others have it worse. They aren’t mutually exclusive, or in competition. The truth of one doesn’t invalidate the other.
I recently came across a piece on cycles of life by herbologist Stephen Buhner. He speaks of the continual necessity to come to grips with where you are. My navel-gazing is occasioned by health and financial issues of the moment, and probably would not be so pronounced under better circumstances. He sees the need for introspection as a given, in any case.
“Some part of us is passing away, and it is crucial to grieve its passing; to spend time honoring that part of us, how hard it worked for us; to recognize its mistakes; to grapple with the things we left undone, with regrets, with our own limitations, with missed opportunities.
“At each stage we have the chance to correct the past to some extent, to do the things we avoided doing. …… If we do not come to terms with these passages, we risk becoming less genuine, becoming the enemy of our souls and our memories.”
This would be easier if the very nature of the change was not so…reducing. It is difficult to assess the passing phase when it seems stronger and better. It’s difficult to trust your own judgement.
You make a good point to Robert. The issue of trusting one’s judgment in the current era is relevant. I also find that your word “reducing” feels appropriate as well.
This year has been very weird indeed. It’s the juxtaposition of normal and abnormal–the streets are the same, or at least decorated for Christmas, and yet there’s something odd….ah, yes, it’s that all the cafés are closed and people glare over their masks if you step too close. And friendship is held together via texts.
It’s not that different from aging. In my mind’s eye, I’m still 30, still able to do cartwheels. In reality, I can’t fasten my bra because my arm doesn’t twist. And now a knee is going out. And people glare over their masks as I gingerly go down steps to avoid falling (again) or as I struggle to reach things in the supermarket with my bum arm. Old lady. Ugh.
Even doing the usual things to enrich one’s life is impossible at the moment–it’s not a great moment to volunteer or do things that would bring one in contact with others, because we all have a duty not to get sick.
Thank you for writing this article. It was so honest that I felt that you reached into my inner self & pulled out exactly how I feel on so many levels. I do not have a female friend anymore to share my honest feelings with. My husband doesn’t care to hear me anymore. Too caught up with his own issues. We do not communicate well. Did we ever?
I’m glad my words spoke to you. I struggle with how much of my current (emotional?) state to reveal, hoping that I say enough so that a few people might recognize themselves and think “Ah, I am not alone in this.” At the same time, protecting a comfortable measure of one’s privacy online is always an issue, despite all Pop culture proclivities to the contrary.
Your note regarding communication with your husband is also a familiar theme for many of us. This is so often the case with our partners of many years.