Growing Up in a Kind World

Is it possible that older generations (including Baby Boomers) are the last ones to be optimistic, to feel that the world was basically good and kind (if you were white)? Because that doesn’t seem to be the case with younger generations.

John F. Kennedy was the first president I remembered—someone who modeled idealism, who urged us to “ask not what your country can do for you, ask what you can do for your country.” Even after his assassination, I remember admiring, first,  Robert F. Kennedy, and then Martin Luther King, Jr. Those deaths broke my heart, but I didn’t give up thinking we could make the world a better place.

Where did this optimism come from? Maybe it started with Baby Boomers being born after World War II, a seeming victory of good over evil that would usher in a new era. We unknowingly lived through one of the greatest economic booms in U.S. history, and we had our pick of jobs. Housing was cheap and plentiful. And I believe we were one of the last generations mostly to have parents who didn’t divorce.  We had stable homes, and most of us had fathers (not mothers) who had stable jobs, so we lived our lives in the same neighborhoods, with the same friends, going to the same schools. We had community of sorts, which the world seems to be sorely lacking now.

But the world isn’t like that anymore. A recent article in the New York Times said the generation of Millennials grew up with the Harry Potter books and the idea of good conquering evil, but the next generation—Generation Z—is more cynical. Known as Zoomers, this cohort (born from 1997 to 2012) doesn’t see the world as especially good, but has encountered an unstable economy, an angry division between two political sides, and a climate that is changing before their eyes. In surveys, young people express little hope for the future. Who can blame them?

Zoomers grew up after the global financial crisis of 2008 and today face difficult job and housing markets, as well as a society where human contact has been surpassed by one in which people relate to each other on social media. This generation grew up with a president who displays anger and hatred. One of his henchmen said compassion was for losers. Are Zoomers modeling their lives on a president who cares more about making himself rich and powerful  than taking care of his constituents–all Americans?

Growing up, I don’t remember having a lot of fears except for the threat of nuclear war—a big one—but even then I trusted that world leaders would be able to come to a resolution. We grew up in a world that seemed sane and where we trusted our neighbors. Even if we weren’t sure they were the best people, we never thought of them as cruel. I know that some of my brothers faced bullies at school, but it wasn’t like being a child today and facing cruel taunts on social media, ones that can spread quickly and often cause emotional torment. Even if boys in my era pulled girls’ hair or made fun of their looks, it wasn’t like girls today being “sexualized” by males.  

How different is their world from ours—a world that older generations can hardly fathom. Is it possible that we elderly can model some kindness and goodness, or is it too late for that? I hope not.

2

Technology Is Not My Friend

Sure, the Internet has a lot of benefits, but when you’re as technology-illiterate as I am, a simple email can cause a crisis. I recently got notice that my blogging service (if that’s the right term) was shutting down at the end of the month. I panicked because if I didn’t retrieve my 450 posts, they would be lost forever, and I had no idea how to save them.

Fortunately, I found someone who could help me save those precious posts, but now I’m struggling with setting up a new blog on a new service. It’s like learning a foreign language. The new blog pages are filled with strange symbols and words I don’t recognize. As my memory has deteriorated and as technology has gotten more complex, I’ve started to feel increasingly helpless. It’s not a good feeling.

I know that younger people are completely comfortable with technology. Maybe for that reason, it’s hard to find tech people who can help. Only we older ones need assistance. And when I do find guidance, I find that my language doesn’t match theirs; we’re using different phrases to describe the same thing, so I flounder, use long explanations to match their one word: “that thing where you start out and then after that you go to the next page. . . .”

Of course, I don’t know what I’d do without the Internet. Google has helped me translate my doctor’s medical terminology into something I can understand. When I need to research butterflies’ life cycle or how salamanders in a nearby lake survive in winter, the answer is at my fingertips rather than going through numerous books. What’s the number of annual visitors to Rocky Mountain National Park? Without the Internet, retrieving this information would take many phone calls, trying to find the right person, and many hours.

I’ve tried to keep up with the Internet, but as soon as I learn one new feature, another one comes along. It took me a long time to figure out what emojis signified and then to start using them. One I use frequently is the thumbs up, but I just read that younger people use this sarcastically, so now I’m worried that the thumbs up I recently sent my neighbor in an enthusiastic gesture will be misinterpreted.

I notice the withering look from the young checker at the supermarket when I take too long to figure out how to pay for my groceries. Where do I tap the bird emblem? Does it go up or down? I know I’m not the only older person who struggles with technology. AARP offers computer help, my hometown senior center has classes, and customers at the local Geek Squad are mostly seniors who need help getting their computers working. My cell phone provider, the one aimed at seniors, has customer service staff who talk kindly and slowly without condescension when I call with another stupid question.

Sure, there are seniors who can figure out the Internet with no problem, just like there are people in their 90s who still climb mountains. But I still print out my boarding pass because I’m haven’t yet set up the “wallet” on my cell phone.

Maybe it’s all relative. I think of my mother who, in her 80s, was given an iPad to play with and explore the Internet, maybe send some emails. But she was happy just to play Solitaire on her computer. That’s as high tech as she wanted to get.

6

Becoming an Old Woman

For many years, especially after I turned 70, when people asked my age, I would always reply, “But I don’t feel 70 . . .  (71, etc., fill in the blank.) But over the past year, I suddenly started feeling old. Mostly I blame it on losing some physical abilities. The arthritis in my knees has gotten bad enough that I can no longer do the hikes I used to— such as climbing up steep trails to alpine lakes. Since my knee operation last April, I’ve slowly increased the distance I can go, but now I have to be satisfied with walks around the neighborhood rather than mountain hikes. If I try longer hikes, I get winded easily.

Meanwhile, my spinal stenosis is diagnosed as “moderate,” a common condition among older people, and now I’m careful when I lean over to garden or get dishes out of the dishwasher. I’ve crossed over some threshold—the one from moving effortlessly without thinking about my body—jumping on a bike or lifting a heavy load—to being careful. I’ve had to get rid of the image of myself as strong and capable of performing any task that was needed. 

I watch younger people bound up stairs without a thought, while I slowly take each step, planting my foot in the right position so not to feel pain.  “Careful” is my motto, followed by “slow and steady.” For someone who has always loved moving—hiking, swimming, kayaking, snowshoeing–it’s hard to adjust to a slower pace. And I’ve given up skiing altogether.

In an airport recently, arriving late one night, I found myself in a swarm of travelers apparently eager to get home. I tried to keep up with the crowd’s fast pace, but I feared that if I slowed down, I would be mowed over. With the world moving so fast, it scares me to travel now.

Just over the past six months, the arthritis in my hands has gotten worse. Every door handle is a challenge to open. Turning my key in the car ignition is painful, and so is typing–my physical therapist advises using voice-to-text. When I cut vegetables, I use a padded knife and try using my left hand instead, but it’s awkward and I worry about cutting myself. When I open a jar, I have to think first: would this hurt my right or left hand more? How do I avoid the most pain? 

I grow more crooked every day, even though I do exercises to combat that, like laying on the floor and stretching out my arms. I convince myself that I won’t be like my father, who, in his later years, was so bent over that he only saw the floor when he was walking. But then I catch myself in a storefront window and am surprised to see someone who resembles an old woman painfully stooped over.

When I get up in the morning, I slowly unfold my body, find my feet and then push myself up, feeling all the aches and pains that belong to an aging body. I walk to the bathroom holding on to the dresser to steady myself. I don’t bound out of bed anymore.

It’s strange to have to constantly think about how my body works, but on a certain level it’s comforting, because I’m taking care of my body—as lovingly as possible. I no longer move heedlessly or carelessly. When I feel pain in my hands, I massage them with cream or carefully exercise them. When my knees start hurting when I walk, I’ll find a way to shift my weight to lessen the load and pain.

When I look at my hands now, I see my mother’s, thin and gnarled. What arises is a tender memory of her, now gone five years, and tenderness toward my own aging body.

6

Blog at WordPress.com.

Up ↑