40) The New Olds

'Shroom-splaining, pelicans, desire

I haven’t hit the ground running, as hoped, after an 11 day work and Thanksgiving trip. Instead, I’m writing from my bed, where I’ve been for two days, sick with Covid. I managed to go all the way from the pandemic until now without getting it. This seems to be a mild case, at least compared to what I’ve heard about, hoping it stays this way.

Prior to this unwelcome turn, I spent a weekend at the Bakersfield Comic Con, some LA days, and the rest in a beautiful beach place, graciously hosted by one dear friend, joined by another. We are three very accomplished women, each of us realizing we’d be alone for various reasons over the holiday. We decided to lady-gang our way through it in a nearby paradise, a good decision.

Our house overlooked the beach to the East. I set my alarm to watch the sunrise over the Sea of Cortez, and strained my eyes and hopes searching for whales, which I’ve never seen. The pelicans, elegant in their own awkward way, did not disappoint, convening on black rocks jutting from the sea before launching into the air and swooping into the water. It was a beautiful place, and as the sun gained altitude, the earth below populated with beautiful people. Everywhere I looked I saw perfect bodies; either hard earned by disciplined habits, induced with Ozempic injections, or undervalued gifts of youth.

There were very few like me, a mid-60’s rounder and softer woman, scurrying from umbrella to covered patio to shade tree. The same sun that used to make me blotchy, burned, and freckled—but I didn’t care because I loved lounging in the heat and body surfing in the waves—now causes scaly spots that get biopsied, carved out, and replaced by long ugly scars. I told the dermatologist I’m beginning to feel like her personal practice shawarma.

For the first couple days I was plagued with the familiar longing for my former shape, the tiresome shame of not measuring up, topped off with an extra dose of that for feeling it in the first place—of all the meta things one could manage to dream up.

And then out of nowhere it comes, fleeting as it is welcome: the sense of acceptance and appreciation of the body I get to have still. So what if I’m more of a pelican than a sleek egret? I’m still a force of nature.

elegant, awkward pelicans and a svelte, sleek egret

On this visit, there were dinners with interesting people, a lot of international ex-pats or visitors. I met people from Venezuela, Czech Republic, England, Argentina, Switzerland, Lebanon, Mexico, Israel and France. A sunset cruise on a yacht, moored in a harbor between the biggest sailboat in the world and a sinister boat with dark windows and a pirate flag, painted matte black like my favorite hot rods in primer. We set off late, sailed past the stone arches, the night turned the water to onyx and everyone drank and loosened up and laughed and I kept up using my own private reserve of social skills and sober experience.

I didn’t try and keep up when my friends and some visitors all micro-dosed and chased their woo-woo with margaritas for several hours. My friends were cool, but one person tried to ‘shroom-splain me. I politely informed her I’d done more psychedelics on a lunch break in middle school than she would do in her lifetime.

If you want to know how a sober person copes when everyone else is gettin’ down, I’ll tell you this: enjoy yourself with them if you’re comfortable with their state of being. If you’re not, leave. Take a walk, call a sober pal, connect with family or other grounding force. I have tons (almost 35 years) of sobriety and I’m super happy being that way—don’t feel like I’m missing one thing and never ever feel like I’m in the “slippery place.” But. I did do one thing I’ve learned and that was to be of service, posting a cheerleading video to my IG story.

…and, that’s how it works!

Being present and open for whatever happens in the exterior world while noticing and observing the goings-on of my interior world can make it seem like a lot happens in a short time. I’m always processing the way it feels to move about and exist in this space of relative oldness, I think about it and write about it and talk about it, because it may be natural and the way of things, but it’s weird. I promise you, if you haven’t gotten here yet, it’s a weird club.

It’s nebulous for one thing; I’m getting older, almost old, maybe already old but not quite ready to really believe it. When I was young, the olds were apart from the rest of us. They were grandmas with flabby batwings and grandpas with canes. They dressed different, their hair was frosty and coifed, jet black or copper penny red, set in curlers at night. The way they moved, how they talked—all of it. They were old and the rest of us weren’t.

But not us, not us okboomers. A well placed taunt from a Gen or Milenn will make me laugh too, but the truth is we’re a different kind of old. I don’t feel old and I look nothing like the olds of yore. I credit this to curiosity and wonder and lust for life, but wrapped up with genetics, rock and roll, cool clothes and hair. There’s only one thing that’s made me think, aha, “this is what being old is” and that’s desire. When people ask me about dating and romance and all that, I vacillate from pretending I care, to not knowing if I care, to shrugs of actual not caring.

One of the many people I met was a very good-looking young guy who made me feel like a teenager. Nothing happened during our conversations. He didn’t have to deal with my rusty flirting techniques (see last dispatch,) there was nothing overt, or even subtle, no signs, no compliments, no touching. There wasn’t fantasy or longing or wishful thinking, just two people talking in the exterior world while I watched my mysterious interior world unfold and open and show me that what I think and what I feel is always, always movable and malleable. It was an unexpected, cherished gift and left me feeling more like myself, a part of my self I thought I hadn’t been able to carry into this new oldness.

I had to write about this because it was significant and it was real and it changes the way I see myself in the world. Thank you for reading and…

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