Pat Taub
GUEST POST by MICHAEL STEINMAN
I am 73. My white hair, tentative gait, and blue cane say so to others even when I don’t. No one snarls, “Hey, Gramps! Move it!” but even well-meant acts can be ungentle reminders.
On New Year’s Eve morning I visited my local supermarket, paid for my groceries, and began to lift a heavy bag into my cart. Without a word, the young cashier left her register to help, so quickly that I had nothing to say but a startled grateful thank-you. I had my hands on the other bag when a fortyish man behind me cheerfully grabbed it and put it in my cart. While I was thanking him, he said enthusiastically, “You’re doing GREAT!”
An older man surprised at how others view him
He was being helpful, but I was embarrassed. Driving home, I tried to digest the idea that I looked incapable. I tried to turn the incident into comedy, telling the story to a neighbor I encountered in my building, finishing with, “That was the fourth stage. The fifth stage is someone leaning over me while I am bed-ridden, congratulating me sweetly, ‘Mister Michael, you ate up all your Jello!'” We both laughed, but the laughter covered up what would be painful to say.
Apparently, my identity is defined wholly by my outward appearance, and I am compelled to embrace that painful oversimplification with as much grace as I can, rather than snapping at someone, “I can do that myself!” Resenting others, hating my age will not slow the forward march of time.
Contemplating what gives old age meaning
Given all that, I ask myself, “Before you are eaten by the bear that escapes from the Bronx Zoo (one of my imagined demises) how do you want to be in the time you have?” My response? To work hard at getting better at being. I don’t mean disposable “New Year’s resolutions,” but constant striving.
I want to repay the kindness that others have shown me all my life, in action, not just in words.
It’s not possible to “do no harm,” but I want to do as little of that as possible. For me, this means attempting to speak ill of others less or not at all, even though gossip at others’ expense is an old habit. It means apologizing quickly and sincerely, not simply to smooth things over so that old patterns can continue, but to show that I understand I hurt someone and want to not repeat it.
I want to be more flexible and adaptable, to compromise with others without fuss, to insist on having my own way rarely and only for good reason. I try hard to listen more closely, to honor the person speaking with my full attention: the greatest manifestation of love we can enact, more lasting than flowers. I want to treat others with the respect I would like for myself.
Others know more than I do, so I work at accepting my fallibility, acknowledging when I am wrong graciously, putting my ego under the bed in a box taped shut.
Have I gotten better? You would have to ask my adorable wife, my family, my friends. All I know is that I am working towards being an improved version of what I once was. Can I erase what is flawed in me? Listen for my loud laughter. But I’m trying.
My overarching goal may be selfish. When I am dead, I want to be remembered with affection, not have my absence marked with relief. But even a slightly corrupt goal can have good outcomes.
Aged cheese and mature wine are valued. There’s hope for everyone, I hope.
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Michael Steinman is a writer and retired English professor, who thinks his real work is his jazz blog (JAZZ LIVES), where, through videos of live performances worldwide, he “sends out love in a swinging 4/4.” Michael proudly proclaims, “I am married to the best person on the planet.”
