By Ellyn Ruthstrom
“Aging is inevitable; growing old is optional.”
As I have been steeping myself with all things aging for this issue, I came upon the above quote that encapsulates one attitude toward aging that really annoys me. Separating the concepts of “aging” and “growing old” is one of those linguistic contortions that people put themselves through to continually fight against the idea that they are indeed getting old. They protest it so much you would think that when you say you are old you are saying that you are a horrible person, or that old equals decrepit or infirm. And basically, it reifies being young as the only acceptable thing to aspire to (though it is an impossibility to aspire to be younger, we only age in one direction). It is the classic binary where one side (youth) has the automatic superiority to the other side (old age).
My question is, what’s wrong with being old? I am 65 now and I am old. Thankfully. So what? Aging is aging is aging. Everyone does it differently and denying that you are old won’t mean you will stay alive any longer. How do I know I am old? Because I am not young. (See binary above.)
Does one feel old? One day, my close friendship circle went around the group and asked the question, “How old do you feel inside?” We had been discussing how there is a disconnect between our actual age and how we feel from within. We also explored how looking at ourselves in the mirror sometimes or seeing a current photo of ourselves can be jarring—am I really that old? So, we pondered what that internal age would be for each of us and there was a wide range of responses. I said that I usually felt between 35-40—until my back ached or my arthritic knees brought me to my senses.
Which brings us back to the very physical nature of aging and why people are so damned sensitive about admitting their bodies have begun to change and, yes, deteriorate. For Americans, who are especially obsessed with the anti-aging cult, admitting that one’s body is weakening is seen as giving in, capitulating to aging and all the negative associations that go along with it. You are supposed to fight against it and if you don’t, then you are truly judged for it. I think it is better to admit to the pain and limitations that aging eventually offers us. Face them and create connections with others who experience similar challenges.
Another way I know I am old is because of how younger people interact with me. Ageism is real and microaggressions pop up as you walk through life with an old body and grey hair. Recently, I actually had a sales assistant explain to me how I could order something online, and she started going into great detail as if I didn’t understand the internet or something. I was caught off guard until I realized what was going on. Now I get it. This is why people don’t want to appear old, because we know damn well that others will treat us differently—assuming cognitive decline or physical weakness without needing any evidence—and we want to delay that for as long as possible. The only place that age apparently doesn’t seem to matter is if you are an incumbent office holder; people just keep electing you no matter how old you are, as if you are owed the job until you die. (And god forbid anyone challenges an incumbent by mentioning their age! And look how well that turned out.)
As someone who has often been involved with community-building activities, I’m skilled at meeting new people and finding ways to connect. But I have witnessed over time how that experience has changed as I age. These are my own observations, and they might be different for you, but I find that younger people no longer see me as someone they’d like to get to know on a personal level. If there are other reasons to converse—professional, volunteerism, organizing, etc.—that is still fine, but now I feel there is a generational barrier that prevents going past a certain level of getting to know each other. When it does happen, it makes it that much more special.
I’ve talked to a lot of bi+ folks who have been in long-term loving relationships with a single partner, and they have shared how sometimes that longevity challenges their sense of being bi+. I’ve never had that feeling internally, but I do sense that people observe my long-term relationship with my current female partner and cast doubt on my bisexuality. Which also demonstrates that a lot of people don’t understand that bisexuality isn’t about our partners; it is about our own desires and attractions. Being a part of a vibrant bi+ community in Boston for over 30 years makes me grateful for having that homebase to return to for validation and understanding about my bi identity. And we’re lucky to have many single elders as well as varied partnerships as visible role models of how to live bisexual lives into our later years.
And that touches on something else I’ve observed over time. In a lot of people’s minds, bisexuals can’t be old. Huh? First of all, because bisexuality is still interpreted by many as being sexually promiscuous and people age out of that behavior, right? Similarly, if you are polyamorous, everyone knows that only young people are poly, right? And, if you are monogamous, then it’s thought that you must have chosen either a straight or gay identity by then, so no more bisexuality. So many assumptions leading to the erasure of the experiences of older bi+ people!
When I turned 50, I experienced some losses that sparked me to assess what I had done in life and what else I still wanted to do. I also had a growing sense that some options were narrowing, which is such an un-American thing to admit. We are supposed to believe, “You can do whatever you want to do whenever you want to do it.” That damn optimism and denialism! I actually came to realize that I wished I had had a stronger inclination to do certain things earlier in my life and had not succumbed to that unrealistic belief of perpetual youthful zeal.
Turning 65 has made me appreciate where I am and has prompted me to connect more with the people who have shaped my life. There is an understanding that—while I am still healthy and not in danger of immediate death—I realistically could die and I want to be prepared. I want to have meaningful connections now with people I care about, and I don’t want to regret not tying up loose ends. For example, I just had a wonderful visit with a good friend of mine from when I lived in England in the 1980s. We haven’t been able to see each other in person for 15 years, but it was like that gap disappeared as soon as we saw each other. Those deep, long-time connections can be so healing.
And therein is the secret to life (or at least my secret), to enjoying the process of aging, to just about anything. Connection. I don’t want to be cliché about it, but exploring the connections we have to others, to our communities, to our passions, to whatever spiritual journeys we choose, it really is about finding and deepening those connections as we meander along life’s passages. And as an older woman, my slower pace helps me to appreciate and celebrate all of those many connections that have given my own life meaning.
Ellyn Ruthstrom is this issue’s guest editor and has been involved with the Boston Bisexual Women’s Network, Bi Women Quarterly and the Bi Women Newsletter for nearly three decades. She’s been secure in her bisexual identity since she turned 30 and has no plans of revising it.