For my last birthday party, my daughter framed some old photos of me and placed them on tables around the party room. There was one that captivated me immediately, it was of me and a girlfriend, standing on a beach in our two-piece bikini bathing suits. Mine was a yellow polka-dot bikini, a popular style (and song) at the time. The picture was taken over 50 years ago when we were in our mid-20s. We stood tall, our figures shapely and alluring, and our faces filled with pride and anticipation of our unknown futures. I remember that seeking love and a life partner was one of our hopes at that time.
The photo now sits next to my desk. My friend and I both had careers, married, had children, and are now widows. We no longer have those shapely figures, and our faces show our ages and the challenges in our lives. It seems so long ago, and yet… I see the seeds of our futures, and who we are now, in this old photo.
I recently started clearing out some closets, and I found my laminated PhD diploma, granted from Columbia University over 40 years ago, and closeted for all those years. It seemed vain to hang it in my office—colleagues in my research environment didn’t hang their diplomas either—and it felt even more vain to hang it at home. I took it out, dusted it off, and it now hangs on a wall in my bedroom. I could put it in a more prominent place, but it’s not for show to others. It is just for me.
I cherish these two fragments of my past. That’s me, I remind myself, as I pass each one. They happened at a time when the possibilities seemed endless, and both hinted at my life to come. I now take inspiration from them for my life to be— no longer foreshadowed by youth or by academic achievement—but by hopes and aspirations that still emerge, even at this time in my life.
Reflections on Aging 