I acknowledge that I am getting older. It’s much better than not.
The thing I am hostile about – feeling a definite emotional slap in the face – is that when the talking heads on TV are talking about ‘The Elderly,’ they are talking about ME. I want to bite them in the leg, and I haven’t had a rabies shot.
We are described as ‘vulnerable.’ They are mainly referring to us that way in regard to Covid-19 and getting the vaccine protection. I acknowledge that my husband and I are more at risk from dying from this awful virus, and we have both received the two shots. The thing I resent is that we are being discussed as if we are all one person, one block of sheep, a group that only matters tangentially to the more important matters we’re facing in the world.
Well, THIS OLD BROAD has a lot of fight left in her. My husband and I have long realized that we have never – and probably WILL never – think like other people of any age. We have never been representative of people of our age on almost any subject you can name. And I think that’s probably true of the rest of the ‘elderly.’
We are individuals, as are the people of any labeled group. We have different goals, different needs, and react differently to the same set of circumstances.
I guess what I’m saying is that being called ‘elderly’ and treated as if that MEANS someone can assume anything about me is my new PET PEEVE. I’m not normally a hostile person (although my husband has always described me as, “mean as a snake.”)
I’m not aging ‘gracefully.’ I’m aging, trying to wring out every drop of joy possible from each and every day, finding wonderful, creative people whose work amazes me, new things to learn and try, a new motivation to get and stay as healthy as I can be for as long as I can, enjoying the people who make my life a joy and the beauty around me.
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