The Work of Being an Older Human
As I move into my "Third Act", I am endeavouring to decouple my self-worth from my output.
I turn 60 in August this year. Much to my amusement, this means I can qualify for a Seniors Card in Victoria. Benefits include free or discounted travel on public transport, cheaper entry to all manner of things from theatre shows to my local swimming pool. Oh, and free fishing licences - not of great use to me, but heck, maybe I’ll take up a new hobby.
My theatre and arts background means I can laugh about finally being able to purchase SPU (pronounced ‘spew’) - student, pensioner and unemployed - tickets. Although today, more likely just known as ‘concession’ pricing.
I also just noticed that some petrol companies offer a 4c per litre discount - now that’s valuable at the moment.
My age - 59 - means I am a ‘nine-ender’. A paper published in 2014 ‘People search for meaning when they approach a new decade in chronological age‘ found:
“Although humans measure time using a continuous scale, certain numerical ages inspire greater self-reflection than others. Six studies show that adults undertake a search for existential meaning when they approach a new decade in age (e.g., at ages 29, 39, 49, etc.) or imagine entering a new epoch, which leads them to behave in ways that suggest an ongoing or failed search for meaning (e.g., by exercising more vigorously, seeking extramarital affairs, or choosing to end their lives).”
The authors, Adam Alter and Hal Hershfield, found that people are significantly more likely to question the meaning of their lives as they approach the end of a chronological decade. The “9-enders” were disproportionately represented in behaviours that signal a search for, or crisis of, meaning: running their first marathon, seeking affairs outside their marriage, and, at the extreme end, suicide. Apparently, the final year of a decade feels like a reckoning, a time to reevaluate, recalibrate.
Of course, this all would seem like mythical luxury to people born a few hundred years ago. Modern medicine has dramatically extended our lifespan. In previous centuries, I’d probably have kicked the bucket a couple of decades ago. We have an ageing population; the number of Australians aged 85 years and over is projected to double by 2042, reaching over 1 million, according to the ABS.
Midlife has, for many, become a hinge point. Looking around my extended friendship circle, it’s difficult to find anyone who is still married to their original partner. Almost everyone I know in their late 40s / 50s is divorced or separated. Many are single and emphatic about not dedicating themselves to a new exclusive relationship, often because they carry trauma from their previous relationship, and have found they would rather be single than unhappy, or in more extreme cases, unsafe.
We are often told that staying “young” is the goal. We are encouraged to lift weights, learn languages, and perhaps invest in cosmetics or surgery to mask the passage of time. Psychologist Frank Tallis, in his book Wise, argues that we have become far better at extending the length of our lives than preparing for the psychological challenges within them.
Many of us look ahead to the next 20 to 30 years being filled with gardening, book club, and eventually a retirement home and death, and decide that ain’t for us. It’s way more prevalent amongst the women - many of whom spent decades being suppressed or worse, abused and coerced - financially, emotionally, sexually - and reckon, ‘fuck that for a life, it’s time for me’.
I write a great deal about being a good human. But there’s also the work of being a good older human. I’ve become much less interested in things, and today I am much more interested in people. We’re so driven in the earlier part of our life by the acquisition of things - roles, titles and possessions. However, as I move into what many call the “Third Act“, these goals have lost their lustre or simply disappeared. I am endeavouring to decouple my self-worth from my output.
As I near 60, I recognise my time is finite. I have been quietly pruning my possessions - there are two air mattresses in the boot of my car right now, parked outside the cafe where I am writing this, while I wait for the op shop to open. Just another small deduction from the pile of possessions cluttering my garage earmarked for disposal.
I’ve stopped trying to impress people. I’ve stopped trying to be all over LinkedIn and other social media to preserve fictional social networks. Instead, I prioritise depth of connection with a small number of amazing people - I often refer to this group as my constellation. I only invest in relationships with people who truly espouse the qualities of good humans.
Accepting that our bodies change and that some doors have closed is not an admission of defeat. It is the first step in a healthy process of development. When we stop fighting the reality of ageing, we free up the energy required to actually experience it.
You never fully master change. There are no medals or parades, nor a graduation ceremony where you receive your honorary doctorate in adaptability. Each new change brings its own challenge. But you do get better at it.
The challenge of the second half of life is not to stay young, but to become wise - it’s this wisdom that will support you through change. I’m not sure just how ‘wise’ I am yet, but I’ve worked hard to devote time and energy to activities and people who truly matter to me. Gratifyingly, it’s opened doors to new places and experiences I’d never have thought existed.
We talk about living ‘well’ in mid-life. Of course, ‘well’ will mean different things to different people, but for me it’s about finding meaning in existence, not just in action. People, not possessions. Working on myself to be a kinder, more empathetic and supportive friend - indeed, making new friends who I suspect will be in my life for many years to come.