What I Have Learned from Octogenarians
I have a kind of magic power. Every day, I spend time with people who have made it to their 80s. It feels a little like having a crystal ball, catching glimpses of what might be ahead for me, if I am lucky enough to get there. It is also a constant reminder of what it looks like to grow older.
There are parts of the future that scare me. Many of our clients are making big life changes, like moving into a senior residence or relocating to another part of the country. Some make these decisions by choice, but many do not. Often, their health or mobility has changed, and their homes no longer work for them. The decision is no longer optional.
After 16 years of working with octogenarians, I think the most important lessons I have learned are these:
Let people help you when you need help.
Be honest about when you need help.
Build a strong social network and be a good friend.
These are hard lessons for all of us. The first two can feel almost impossible, especially for people who pride themselves on independence. They can also create tension within families. Most parents do not want their children telling them what to do with their lives. I see this in my own family too, and I cannot pretend to have it all figured out.
A friend recently told me that her Rabbi spoke about how we are obligated not only to help others, but also to accept help ourselves when we need it. She shared this with her mother after learning that she had been sick with the flu for days, barely able to get out of bed, yet never called to ask for help.
Another friend once told me that she has never really known any older people. Her grandparents died when she was young, and she did not have close older relatives or even older neighbors. She said she feels scared about what will happen as her parents age. I remember feeling both surprised and a little sad for her. It seemed like she was missing an important part of life.
I do not have that problem. I am surrounded by older adults all the time.
Because of that, I often find myself thinking about who I might want to be at 80. I notice the people I admire and try to understand what they are doing now that allows them to live that way.
One thing I know is that I want to stay social. I understand that it becomes harder. Traveling is harder. Going out to restaurants is harder. Even making plans can feel harder. But it matters to me that I never give that up.
I recently spoke with a man in his late eighties who told me he could no longer fly and just decided that his long-distance kids and grandchildren will have to come visit him. He said he gets exhausted navigating airport security. I mentioned that you can request wheelchair assistance at most airports, and someone will meet you at the curb or check-in and escort you through security to your gate. He dismissed the idea immediately and seemed insulted that I even suggested it. He told me he did not need a wheelchair. I tried to explain that this service is for people exactly like him, people who may not need a wheelchair all the time but could use some help in an airport. He would not consider it. For him, it felt better to stop flying altogether.
I think about that moment often. But I also think about something much smaller. When people first started texting with emojis, my mother-in-law told me she did not understand them and did not think she ever would. But she stayed curious. She asked her granddaughter to show her how to use them. Our niece happily taught her, and now my mother-in-law uses emojis all the time.
It feels like a quiet contest between curiosity and fear. Instead of thinking, I am afraid to try this because I might do it wrong, what if we thought, I am not comfortable trying this, but I will give it a shot.
It is easy to stay in your own lane. It is easy to say you are too tired, too busy, or too old to go out to dinner, see a show, or try something new. It takes more effort to say yes.
But the people I admire most, the ones I hope to be like someday, keep saying yes anyway.