by Bonnie McCune

To me, the most surprising fact of old age life so far has been the decline in my own condition. Physical and mental. There is no way I can reach the heights I used to, i.e., even jogging a mile or two. It’s sufficient to WALK a mile or two. I’ll never be able to jog like that again. Or perhaps I’m just being chicken because I’m afraid of falling down.

This shouldn’t have come as a shock. After all I’ve lived for years with friends and family who have gone through the process of getting old, but we’re so accustomed to gradually getting better when we practice an activity, I was taken aback when I realized this. Whether it’s learning the times-tables in third grade, or how to function at a cocktail party with its wealth of unwritten, unspoken social rules, we’re accustomed to getting familiar, comfortable, and more successful with each venture.

Not slower, confused, and achy. Not when we hit old age. Instead, one day we try to recall the name of a neighbor and come up blank. Or we start to leap out of bed, only to pause semi-paralyzed on the edge because a muscle has seized up. These are the harbingers. This is reality.

There are compensations. As we age, we can face with equanimity talk about serious illnesses because we don’t have the potential to live long any way. Given the diagnosis of a life span of one to three years for a serious illness, a friend of mine didn’t even blink. At 83, he only has so much life expectancy. He’s learning to live in the moment all the time. Great practice for meditation, by the way, where we’re urged to aim toward this mental attitude. I remember the days of the Flower Child. I wasn’t an active participant of the generation, more of an observer, but one major difference between those times and now is the almost tangible hope we all had. Anyone over 30 was suspect of malicious intentions and obsession with riches and international hostilities. But we of the younger generation were convinced we could change the world, whether we voiced this opinion or simply dreamed it. Sound familiar? Then you’re probably on the shady side of 50.

It turned out we were right. An iota. A tiny bit. A fraction. After all, our country finally gave up on Viet Nam in 1973. A win for us who supported peace Over the decades, some forms of medical rights scooted into our lifestyle in bits and pieces. For years, various civil rights groups have struggled to create and protect benefits like nondiscrimination movements and equal opportunities.

But nowadays, everything seems to be disintegrating, as if we’re backpedaling 50 or 75 years. No, we no longer advocate for equality or demand justice, a disappointment to me. How are we going to improve life if we don’t try? This may mean disagreeing and debating among factions and with leaders of all ilks, whatever ilks are. Maybe some of us, even me, will have to be disappointed on occasion. Perhaps people on every side of an issue will need to, whoa, hold me back—compromise! What an idea!

So here I am at an advanced age, no business of yours exactly what, preparing to make a major change in lifestyle again. I can’t give up without at least trying. I’m to the point I think it’s time to re-enter the fray. But what the heck is fray? Origins of the word center around “affray” to wear away, and “afraid” to be frightened. Both smack of extreme struggle. That’s what life is, always has been.

We hope when we struggle, when we strive, to change things, to improve them. This, to me, implies starting or restarting or revitalizing or invigorating. Whatever it is, it’s the opposite of dying, giving up, As Bob Dylan told us, “He not busy being born is busy dying.” So to be busy being born is to be involved in creating.

I’ve noticed commonalities in creative endeavors. I include many activities as “creative.” When we’re creative, we view life from a different perspective. We don’t back away from a challenge. We seize it We start thinking in unusual directions. We tap unused interests and talents. Yes, composing, writing, performing, drawing, photographing. But also, less “artsy” activities, such as cultivating a landscape, fabricating a scientific hypothesis, pulling a group of fifth graders together to dream up a history project, making a recipe from unusual ingredients.

I don’t think I’m referring to the term “creatives” as it’s used today. I don’t know who these people are. I envision well-dressed young people sipping fine wines and smoking pot, conducting lengthy, wordy focus groups that achieve nothing.

If we are creative (an action), not being a creative (a state of being), we’re not guaranteed to attain happiness. But it goes a long way to produce a “flow state” or put you in “the zone.” Some of the benefits I find listed when I skim through internet sources are: greater focus on what I’m thinking about, disregard for disturbances and external activities or interruptions, a feeling of energy and concentration, forgetting time, less personal stress, loss of self-consciousness or anxiety. Whatever gets you interested in and focused on life and the world around you and your interactions and thoughts about it.

Believe it or not, creativity helps us be happier and more productive. Oftentimes, I feel it helps extend our lifespan. I knew one woman, Ida Fasel, an academic/poet/writer who lived well into her second century because, it seemed to all her friends, she hadn’t finished her masterpiece, a collection of essays about poet John Donne. I don’t think this effort would have stimulated me, but it did her. I know of another, a family friend who wrote extremely popular young adult novels about the military base in Denver, who ignored her numerous, noisy brood of children to sit on her roof and write. Whatever gets you in the zone, I feel.

I’m trying to substitute creativity and imaginative work into times when I’m bored, anxious, worried, depressed. It’s certainly better than sitting around bored. Producing mediocre poetry is more interesting than watching old reruns of Mash, and it’s infinitely more hopeful. Whether we have a projected life span of one day or we dream of decades, this is the future for all of us. If we recall our fate frequently, at regular intervals, we might gain some mental peace.