First Person is a daily personal piece submitted by readers. Have a story to tell? See our guidelines at tgam.ca/essayguide.
Illustration by Marley Allen-Ash
I suppose the birthday cards lining my mantel say it all, a reflection of North America’s mixed messages about aging in a youth- and beauty-conscious society. This year’s collection of greetings run the gamut of ideas around what it means to grow old. They range from silly to spiritual, from profound to inane and to everything in between. There are those that poke fun at the physical indignities which occur over time and those that embrace the inevitable changes of aging. What does it mean?
I hold conflicted feelings about my age. But according to data compiled and analyzed by the World Bank in 2020, there are an estimated 397-million older women around the globe. Negative images of aging are being challenged and changing as the baby boomers continue to set social trends just by our sheer numbers.
Another trend I notice is that I receive fewer cards each year. I know it’s an outdated practice in a paperless age but electronic greetings aren’t the same. I confess to loving paper cards, postcards, letters and books and keep a collection of cards to look through occasionally.
Each birthday reminds me I’m one of the lucky ones, fortunate to celebrate another year of life, to add more memories to an already crammed storeroom. Though not all of the past 365 days are noteworthy, at 74 I love the ordinary, whether memorable or not. Everyday stuff is what French writer Georges Perec termed “infraordinary” or “what happens when nothing is happening.”
It means watching a father with a stroller, pause and tug on the leash he’s holding onto. He shakes his head and he begins to smile. As I pass, I see a Great Pyrenees Mountain dog at the end of the lead. The gentle giant is lying on its back, all four feet suspended in the air. Completely immobile with its long tongue lolling from the side of his mouth and wearing a goofy dog grin. On this spring-like day, a goofy dog grin is enough for me.
Aging does that. It allows me to be more generous in what I consider important: my time, emotions, confidence and compassion toward others. I’m still working on that last one and remain hopeful I’ll get there yet. My perspective continues to change with time and circumstances, one of the gifts that come from years of experience.
Occasionally I miss yesterday’s version of me. The one with hair colour, bright eyes, less lines or crepey skin and tighter muscles. Most days I’m okay with the person who stares back at me from the mirror. Many days I only look in the mirror to brush my hair and some days I stick my tongue out at that person who scrutinizes me.
Today, I’m content. It’s my birthday and I’m wrapped in a bubble of warm weather and wishes, surrounded by flowers and the sweet wafting scent of spring. Four years ago, COVID shut down the world on my birthday. As everyone held their breath waiting for the next round of restrictions, I could have used help blowing out the 70 candles on my raspberry cake. That strange year taught me not to take life or celebrations for granted, particularly not birthdays.
Sometimes I look at a card from 1987 when we arrived on Vancouver Island on my birthday. There were daffodils and kids everywhere as school break was in full swing. When the moving truck pulled up to our townhouse the first things unloaded were bikes and T-shirts for our just-from-Saskatchewan kids. At the time, knee-deep in boxes and chaos it didn’t seem like a great way to celebrate a birthday. But now, 37 years later in the only place I want to live, I see what a landmark occasion it was.
I’m content, or ich habe genug. That’s a German phrase which means “I have enough” and is also the title of a J.S. Bach’s cantata playing on the radio. I hear the mail slot open and the sound of mail hitting the floor with two belated cards. One is homemade, collage-like filled with pictures of laughing sisters and cousins from a recent trip. It’s a keeper.
The other is also homemade, a photo that looks more like a delicate watercolour painting of a serene Japanese garden. There are cherry blossoms, a pond with a one-legged metal heron and an arched bridge spanning the water. On the bamboo wall surrounding the garden, a bronze plaque is inscribed with this message:
“I intended
never to grow old
but the temple bell sounded.”
The words are not a literal translation of a haiku by Jokun but part of the memorial garden created for Mayne Island’s Japanese residents. They made up one-third of the population on this Southern Gulf island while contributing one-half of its economy. That is, before being interned during the Second World War, never to return to their Gulf Island homes or lives. It’s a photo I took to remind me not to take life for granted. Today, I am content.
I have enough.
Susan Beiderwieden lives in Victoria.