Airline Boarding: Rethinking the Need for Special Assistance

I recently took Delta flights to California and Florida, to attend family events.  I was eager to board, to get settled for the flights and to find overhead space for my carry-on luggage. I have not flown very often in the last few years, partly due to concerns about COVID, and I was surprised at what has been an expansion in the boarding categories. I never saw the need to pay extra for being able to board earlier, but with so many boarding classes, I now find that I am one of the last to board the plane. I don’t like that.

In the past, when traveling alone, I would wait until my assigned category was called. But when I traveled with my husband, he worried about getting space for our carry-on luggage and wanted to get on as soon as possible. So as soon as the boarding process began, he would come forward, and when the agent announced boarding for those needing special assistance, he would get on the plane. Never liking to go ahead of my turn, it made me a little uncomfortable. But I would go with him, sometimes mumbling something like –I’m with him – I don’t need special assistance, but he does.

Delta now seems to have 8-9 boarding categories, plus pre-boarding and early boarding. They all sound like boarding categories to me… since they all involve people getting on the plane. The Delta categories, according to my experience and what I found on their website, are:  

Pre-boarding (for customers needing special assistance, including people in wheelchairs), active members of the military, Delta One, First Class or Delta Premium Select, Early Boarding (not sure who they  are), Delta Comfort +, Sky Priority, Main Cabin 1, Main Cabin 2, Main Cabin 3, and Basic Economy. I have found that my tickets are most often a Main Cabin or a basic economy.

In these recent flights, as I waited to be called, I felt strange, almost abandoned, seeing so many board ahead of me. The main reason they were able to precede me was that they paid a few dollars extra for their ticket. And as I looked at those remaining with me after most of the boarding was done, I felt a kinship, we were all second class —no, actually 7th, 8th or 9th —class citizens.

I believe this multi-tiered categorization was developed to encourage flyers to pay a little more, to up their “status” and be able to board sooner. But the airlines have carried their desire to maximize income too far. Not only is the extensive categorization of flyers offensive, but this is added to the reduction in amenities provided. Providing only a meager pack of nuts, pretzels or cookies, and recently raising air fares,  further reduces what used to be enjoyable flights, especially for those in the “lower classes.”  

To see if the Delta boarding process was unusual, I checked boarding categories for American, United and Southwest, the three other major airlines in the US. American has 9 (with preboarding, Concierge Key frequent flyers, and five additional groups before getting to the Economy categories), and United has 5, plus pre-boarding for military and anybody who needs extra time. Southwest has a unique boarding process. It is organized into three groups (A, B and C), with a 1-60 numbering system. Each passenger gets assigned a letter and a number, and the lower your letter/number combination the sooner you board, and that’s where the multiple boarding categories arise. If you are assigned A 1-15 you have “upgraded boarding”, and you are among the first to board. These include Business Select, A-List, and A-List Preferred statuses. In addition, you can purchase several types of upgrades as well as an early bird check- in capability, and these improve your boarding position. So other airlines have multiple, sometimes confusing, boarding categories too.

What do I conclude from this exploration? First- there is a pseudo-caste system in boarding planes, one based not on birth or position, but mainly on how much you are willing to pay. This is not very different from what we see in our society generally: paying more gets you better seats in almost any venue, providing better views of any entertainment provided. But there’s little or no viewing advantage in sitting on different seats on an airplane. I suppose this is simply capitalism in action, and applies to many areas of life.  I never had concerns with the distinctions between first, business and main cabin seats, and accepted that the services and amenities of the last category were less than the first two categories. But the finer distinctions required in 6-9 categories elude me and have little to do with the services provided.

So perhaps my husband was right. And although I am quite healthy, I think I will start needing “Special Assistance” in boarding flights in the future.

Anticipation

Anticipation is under-appreciated as a source of pleasure. Sometimes the anticipation can even be more pleasurable than the experience anticipated. For several years I looked forward to retirement, anticipating that I could plan and do more of the activities I was always too busy to do when I worked- like visiting new places in NYC and spending more time with friends and family. I enjoyed planning the things I was going to do, and have come to realize that there are different kinds of anticipation.

There are the things I have control over. For example, I enjoy reading new authors, and have discovered that I like Philip Roth novels, Alice Munro short stories, and biographies. The pleasure starts when I buy the book, before I even read it. 

I also enjoy good food and drink, and can anticipate an upcoming meal with pleasure, especially at a restaurant or at someone else’s home (so I don’t need to do the work myself).  Sometimes, if I have difficulty falling asleep, I think of having a favorite breakfast in the morning, like an omelet with toast, and find that the pleasure I feel is helpful in drifting off.

There are several people I enjoy seeing and talking with, and when I make a date with them I eagerly look forward to it, often thinking about the topics we will talk about. In the case of my two-year old grandson, just the anticipation of seeing him- as conversation is quite limited-  is enough to fill me with a sense of joy.

But infrequently, the anticipation of something I look forward to results in disappointment: my favorite authors have written pieces I don’t enjoy, a meal is tasteless, or a conversation with a dear friend results in an unpleasant disagreement. But I still look forward to these events in the future, and know I can choose another book, try a different food, and make up with a friend in an upcoming conversation.  Anticipation for the next time is still pleasurable.  

I can also have positive anticipation about things I have no control over.

Sometimes I buy lottery tickets, especially when the media has drawn attention to an upcoming big payoff. As a scientist, with some knowledge of probability, I know that the likelihood of my winning a lottery is infinitesimal, and is not increased if the payoff is greater. And yet, from the moment I buy the ticket until the drawing I feel a little shift in my mood. I could win, wouldn’t that be something! What would I do- would I share most of it with my children, would I give most of it away to worthy causes, would it make my life easier or would I be inundated with requests for monies from a wide variety of people? I enjoy these thoughts… although I know that a big windfall would also bring stress about spending decisions. I have concluded that when I buy a ticket, it’s not for the win, but rather for the anticipation itself – for the period between the time of purchase and the time when the winning number is drawn.

I have become more aware of the role of anticipation during COVID time when I lost control over some of my plans. When threats of the pandemic were elevated, I felt I had to cancel many things: plans to visit new places, dates with family and friends, and even a trip to a wedding. Now, with my fears somewhat reduced due to vaccinations and lower hospitalization/death rates, I have begun planning some of these trips (not the wedding- thankfully it took place and I watched it on zoom). But I was disappointed that some events, like shows at local museums, are no longer available.

 I now find that the COVID-related pauses or delays of events have increased my pleasure in thinking about and planning activities I want to do. I have even started to anticipate enjoying these anticipatory periods, they add another layer of pleasure. And I know that sometimes that may be all I will have.

ID Cards

My passport and driver’s license are my most frequently used documents to prove my identity – generally used for things like checking in at the airport or cashing a check.  And they have other uses.

I went to a baseball game recently (the Mets, my favorite team, at Citifield) and when I bought a beer I was asked for an ID card as proof of age. Being well into seniorhood, I smiled as I looked for my driver’s license. And so did the senior-aged woman who sold me the beer.  I think it is policy to require proof of age for anyone buying alcohol at certain athletic events, to reduce potential disagreements with those who may not look old enough. But it seemed a waste of time.

On the other hand, when I took an Amtrak train a couple of years ago, and requested the senior rate, I was asked for an ID to prove I was old enough to qualify.  I enjoyed that request. It seemed a fine use of my time.

I have other ID cards, with photos, that I use to get benefits I am entitled to. I have a NYC senior citizen metro card that allows me to take buses or trains at half fare. That’s great. And I have an EasyPay account, which means my metro card is tied to a credit card, so that when the balance gets below $10, it is automatically replenished. This means I don’t have to wait on lines to refill my card. Nice.

But the card has another benefit.  It has an expiration date, and I am sent a new replacement card, automatically, approximately every two years. I have often wondered if anyone checks whether or not I am still alive, and still living in NYC – but I am happy to get it, as it involves no effort on my part.  And the newly issued card uses the same photo I submitted when I first applied for the metro card, more than ten years ago. I appear to have been a little plumper in the face than I am now, but otherwise it’s just a younger version of me. And I have another ID like that- a card issued by the apartment complex I live in, that gives me access to enter my building. When new cards were issued several years ago, they used the same picture I took when I first moved in, more than 15 years ago. My hair is no longer that color… but so what? Whenever I use these ID cards I feel my age has been fixed at an earlier time in my life. I don’t mind that.

I also have other ID cards that are no longer of any use, but I keep as documentation of parts of my past. These include the ID card issued by New York University during my career as a research scientist there, and the one I had when I was a NYC cabdriver (during my graduate school days). The most cherished one is the ID I was issued when I worked at Two World Trade Center, I was there until 9/11/01.  I will keep all of these cards even though they no longer generate benefits. They evoke memories of my history, and of a day that I was fortunate to survive.

For the Duration

Sometime in her 50s, my mother started using the expression “for the duration.” She used it when referring to something that she purchased that she anticipated would last the rest of her life, like a piece of furniture. It helped her justify the cost, as she would never need a replacement. It made me smile when she said it, because we all knew that she only said “for the duration” to allay her discomfort in buying something expensive. But both she (and I at the time) never expected that the end of “the duration” was anywhere in sight.   

I first started using the term in my 60s, when I needed some expensive dental work, including implants. The cost seemed quite high to me, but I readily agreed to the procedures once I realized that they would be “for the duration.” I knew the implants would be useful to me for the rest of my life.

And I have been thinking about this phrase even more since retiring from my full-time work as a research scientist. Not anticipating any more major life changes— like career changes or household moves—I sense I am now living in “the duration” for me.

 I have decided to view this as a time of opportunity. I had a successful professional life and made some important contributions to my field, and I raised children who are happy and productive in their lives. So I am done with some of life’s major milestones. My husband and I are in good health and financially comfortable, so I can see “the duration” as one with many possibilities and choices.

Not to be somber, but at the very end of her life, my mother lay in a coma for over a year, with a feeding tube going directly into her stomach. This was her final “duration,” but unfortunately one in which no more choices could be made.  I have decided to welcome this time in my life, a time in which I can make so many choices- including about the work I do, people I am with, and places I go.

There are some things that surround me that I hope will continue to be there, like dear friends and family, and good health. And I will no doubt lose some of these. There are other things likely to be there for the duration that I will always cherish- art, photos and books that I have collected over the years. And there are even some things likely to stay with me that are no longer of any use –like favorite clothes items that are too small, fancy dinner serving pieces and old tax documents.

And there is a Yiddish expression that my mother used that I find helpful – khap arayn (kh pronounced with a guttural kh sound) – that literally means “grab it in” or colloquially, “seize the opportunity.” In other words, enjoy the good things in life while you can. So that’s where this takes me. I plan to do that for the duration.

“You’re Three Versions Behind”

When I worked as a research scientist, one day I had some problems synchronizing my iPhone and my desktop computer, so I called the IT service at my College. When the young man who came to help me started checking my iPhone he said “you’re three versions behind.” Although I had upgraded with a new phone within the past couple of years, I hadn’t realized that three updates had already happened, although I knew that two years was a long time in technology development. Since I didn’t like the bigger screens I had seen recently I had put off buying a new phone, but I asked if that’s what he recommended.  His suggestion was that I should wait, since a new system using the smaller screens would be coming out later in the month (meaning that I would soon be yet another version behind)! I bought a new phone shortly after his visit.

This experience recently led me to think about other areas of my life for which I was several versions behind, especially in the current “smart” technology era.  

There are now hundreds of what are called “smart” products- like TVs, watches, telephones and home appliances. They are connected to other devices, usually through the internet, and they can use data to react to the environment they are in, talk back to us, and adapt to the desires of their owner.  Many people work to have the smartest home they can create. It’s not easy for me to say, but in terms of this arena, I am not as smart as some others. My wristwatch and my telephones – I even have a landline in addition to a cellphone – are not smart. And my apartment building provides central AC and heating, so even if I wanted to be smart about that, I can’t. And in terms of my TVs- I have one that is smart and one that’s not, and requires a Roku device to access Netflix. Thankfully, the two TVs don’t get into conflicts about their intellectual differences, as they are in separate rooms.

What is the message here? I conclude that it is to accept that technology and capitalism will continue to bring forth new versions of lots of things. Accepting that and learning to use the newest ones are important parts of staying engaged, and can make life easier. Although I am at times reluctant to abandon older versions of things that work well, I am resolved to make continued updates or replacements when needed. I remind myself that at least I will still be the only version of myself that is available- maybe not too smart, but certainly unique.

(PS- The term “smart” originally was an acronym for “Self-Monitoring, Analysis and Reporting Technology”, and also became known as “smart” because the technology allows what were previously inanimate objects to talk to us).

Who IS That?

As I passed the full-length mirror on the street, and saw a graying, stocky woman, I knew it was me- but didn’t fully believe that. Who IS that ? I wanted to ask.  How could that be me? And I remembered how I thought of older people when I was young. And some of the stereotypes that older people evoke.

My first-grade teacher, although tall, was a bit overweight, and wore sleeveless blouses in the warm weather. When she wrote energetically on the blackboard we could all see her batwings- the hanging flesh under her upper arms- swinging back and forth.  Some of us laughed, and thought of her as a special species… certainly not anyone we would ever look like.

And I remember the aunts and uncles who came to visit us when I was a child. Some were quite talkative and seemed engaged in life. But others, brought to my house by their spouses, just sat, speaking little, and dutifully rose to go home when their spouse was ready to leave. I remember wondering if they were so quiet when they were home and if their entire lives were filled with silence. As a teenager I believed that once someone got into their 60s they were almost done with life, and withdrew to await the end.  

The stereotypes of older people include slowing down, memory loss, less energy, declining health, not in touch with new technology, loneliness. They all influenced my anticipation of aging with some dread. But as with other stereotypes I am finding that they are often untrue. And those that are true may not have a significant impact on my daily life.

I associate various decades of my life with the activities that were prominent for me during those periods. I can readily answer Who WAS that?  In my twenties I was figuring out the work that I wanted to do, dating, and going to graduate school. My thirties were especially busy- falling in love, marriage, having two children, and completing my doctoral studies. In my forties and fifties, taking care of my young children and building my career as a research scientist was a focus. My sixties brought  a new sense of freedom- children launched, moving back to the city from the suburbs, and eagerly engaging in city life.

And now, in my seventies, since retirement from my full-time work, it is time to figure out what this decade will mean for me, and answer Who IS that? Although there are some models of older women in the media, most don’t fit me. I recently saw pictures of Jane Fonda in her 70s and 80s- still thin, beautifully coiffed, no facial sagging, and no batwings. She and other women entertainment figures appear in the media looking glamorous, often revealing a hint of cleavage. Not for me, not ever and not now.  Other women recently in the media who made major contributions in their 70s include Madeline Albright and Ruth Bader Ginsberg. But they’re not models for me either… they were in positions of power that had international impact. There are also some extraordinary artists, like the writers Alice Munro and Margaret Atwood, who were still creating wonderful stories in their 70s and beyond. They continue to build on their lifetime achievements, and that’s not me either. Although I was successful as a researcher, and headed a national Drug Use/HIV Research Center for over 20 years,  I am looking for new sources for work and pleasure. And there are many older women I see in ads, on the TV and other media- often as examples of the benefits of medications, or of senior living facilities. Being relatively healthy, these don’t apply to me either. At least not yet.

Why did you stop dying your hair ? my older sister recently asked. My immediate answer was that I always thought being natural was what I wanted, and I waited until after I retired to stop dying my hair, as I didn’t want to look older than my colleagues. But I know there are other reasons. I no longer want to feel that signs of aging need to be hidden or covered over. I choose to embrace my aging and even more, to find new tasks for my 70s and beyond, perhaps with new meanings. And I feel that these changes – letting my hair become its natural color and seeking new activities and pleasures in life- provide an important lesson for my children and others I care about. As was true of me, most of them can’t imagine that they will ever be my age- but I don’t want them to fear it, or try and deny it when that time comes to them.

So this is my decade, defined by more opportunity for reading, writing, traveling, talking with those I care about, and new activities still in development. And I believe that my age group and lifestyle should get more attention in the media. It’s fine to see and learn about older glamorous women, women of international distinction, artists still productive as they age, and even those in need of medication or health care. But attention to older women as simply engaged in everyday life and pursuits seems under-represented. More of those models are needed.

I am learning that the answer to Who IS That? at this stage of my life can be complex and evolving. Yes, the health aspects need attention, and more time is devoted to them. But I still have aspirations for activities to provide pleasures and the sense of fulfillment I have strived for in past decades. It’s not very different now, in fact there is more time for the pursuit. Wait your turns, my dears, you will get here some day too.

Me Competitive?

I never felt competitive when I was in school. I studied hard and worried about my grades, and I usually did very well on tests. I didn’t feel competitive in sports either. I remember playing ping pong and tennis with my family, but I was a middling player, so I never aspired to be a consistent winner. When I played with my children, it was more as a means to have conversations than to win. And my husband was so much better than me in these sports, when I played with him I just did it for the exercise. I wasn’t competitive at work either.  While being a research scientist meant that part of my job was to submit grant proposals, as did many scientists hoping to get funding, I never felt I was in direct competition with others. I believed that there were sufficient monies for all the best proposals to get funded.

But as I get older, I am beginning to recognize that maybe I am competitive. I like word games- including Words with Friends, Scrabble and Boggle. When I win I feel magnanimous, attributing it to luck or long experience. But when I lose, I feel a little depressed for a while. Even when I play with people close to me, like my children, I am happy for their win… but am eager to play again to at least “even it up.” I suppose I was always competitive in word games, I just couldn’t admit it before. Actually, as I think about this, maybe I was competitive in other aspects of my life too – like work achievements, looks, home furnishings, etc. – I just couldn’t admit that either. But that topic is for another essay, on gender-based differences.

A new arena for competition emerged a few years ago when I met my new machetayneste… the Jewish word for the mother of one’s child’s spouse. There is no single word English equivalent, perhaps attesting to the greater importance of this connection in the Jewish tradition. There’s even a Yiddish song Machetayneste Mayne (mayne implying my dear) – about a mother who wants her daughter’s mother-in-law to treat her daughter well.

Signs of competition started early. After my daughter and her boyfriend got engaged, a dinner was arranged for the in-laws to meet- my husband and I, our daughter, her soon-to-be-husband, and his parents. The dinner was very cordial, everyone happy to be together, and the parents were happy that their children were very much in love. But I noticed that the machetayneste was younger and thinner than me, and had an attractive, well-coiffed hairstyle, while my curly hair is not easy to manage. She also had a lovely southern accent, having lived in Virginia her entire life. I knew that my Brooklyn accent, less sweet-sounding, was still with me even though I had moved away from Brooklyn decades ago. Meeting her and anticipating ongoing contact was a new experience for me, as my other child’s mother-in-law was living in Columbia, so the distance and our language differences meant that contact would be limited.

The next meeting was when my machetayneste (Nora) and I went with our children to explore wedding venues.   We all stayed together in an Air B& B – and Nora brought lots of snacks, including wine for us to share. I had not thought of bringing food and anticipated that we would buy what we wanted for the house together, and eat most meals out. Was I competing in hospitality?  And when we went into one of the wedding venues, Nora gracefully insisted that I go first – referring to me as the “important mother.” Wow- was I less gracious too? I decided to just relax and enjoy this special trip.

But as we drove around to visit places and talked about the wedding, Nora mentioned her desire to lose weight before the event. I hadn’t given much thought to this, as the event was about a year off. But since she was already thinner than me I said I planned to lose weight too. I then playfully said that I would send her cookies for the upcoming holiday season. We both laughed. But when the holiday came – we sent cookies and cakes to each other. Perhaps she felt a little competitive too. 

The wedding was lovely. I think we both had lost a few pounds, probably not enough for anyone to notice. About 13 months later our grandson was born. Nora asked to be called Nana and I said Grandma was fine for me- and we were glad we would have different names. We love our grandson very much, and we each try and see him every few weeks. Based on the pictures my daughter posts about our grandson, I know that both Nora and I regularly send or bring him clothes and toys. Perhaps I even feel a little competitive about what I bring him, since last time I went I made a kugel, a noodle pudding, using my Polish grandmother’s recipe. My daughter loves it and I hope my grandson will too. And I know that Nora makes and brings delicious southern delicacies when she visits them. I have concluded that my machetayneste and I have similar, and unique, ways of showing our grandson and his family the love we feel for them. There may be a little competition involved sometimes, but that will be fine, as it also represents a lifetime collaboration that we all welcome.

Memories: Remembered and Forgotten

Memory loss is a natural part of aging, and for most people it starts in the 50s. When I think of happy or pleasurable times in the past- whether with family, friends, or at work- I feel suffused with warmth and a sense of gratitude. Being able to talk about the memories with those who were present when the events occurred is an additional source of pleasure, but I can still enjoy them even if the others who were participants remember nothing.

Many wonderful memories were built upon my life with my husband and children. We went on cruises together and had many family get-togethers, but it’s some snippets of events that have stayed with me most clearly. Like the time when my son was in a preschool, at 4 years old, and was in a Christmas play.  I don’t remember the name of the show or even the plot, but I remember him on the stage, wearing a red and blue snowsuit and hat. He was using a little broom to, symbolically and purposefully, sweep away the little girls from his preschool who were also on stage, dressed as snowflakes in white sparkling tutus. It is as though it happened last month, not almost 40 years ago. And it has been seared and sealed into my memory, forever. My son doesn’t remember.

My sister has Alzheimer’s disease. When I last visited her, a few months ago, we spent some time together mostly speaking Yiddish, the language we both learned as children, when our Bubba (grandmother) lived with our family. We talked about many things, including our parents, our children and the weather. I was careful to never mention her current situation or her plans or the recent death of her husband of 60 plus years, which she doesn’t remember.  She still corrects my Yiddish (she had some formal schooling in Yiddish and I never did), and we laughed a lot as I struggled to make myself understood. After I left I called to let her know I was home, and she had no memory that I was there and asked “when will you come visit me?”  My sadness about this was quickly replaced by reminding myself of the pleasure we both had when we were together, and I savored the time as I recalled our conversation. But she remembered nothing.

I recently went to see my 18-months-old grandson. He lives four hours away, so visits are not very frequent. We spent an afternoon together alone, as his parents were working. We played with many toys, including a big bag of Lego blocks that to my surprise he noisily turned upside down to empty, and then put them all back in, one by one. When he finished, he kicked his feet up and down while sitting on the floor, loudly repeating “yay,” happily congratulating himself. He clearly enjoyed this process more than any building potential of the blocks. It was a late winter day warmed by bright sunshine, so we then took a walk together outdoors. When he got tired- I had forgotten that his feet were so much shorter than mine- he simply sat down in the street, looking around for something to do. He was eager to be picked up and I carried him home. During that afternoon I felt our tie to each other had strengthened, and I enjoyed telling his parents about my time with their happy, curious child. Grandma will always remember that afternoon. I doubt he will.

The idea that All we have is now, right now, not the past nor the future, so enjoy it… has been said in different ways by many authors.  It’s true, but it doesn’t just apply to actual events. Their memory can be stored, taken out at will, even if no one else who was there remembers. And it can be brought out and enjoyed over and over again… for that too I am grateful.

Gender Differences Part II: Observations on Behaviors

In a previous blog entry, I wrote about gender differences in sensory capacities- vision and hearing. I knew it would be the first of several entries, because there are gender differences in other areas too, like some behaviors at home and on the road:

Finding abilities

Stories about primitive societies refer to gender differences in the roles of hunters and gatherers. Men were seen as the hunters of animals, and women as the foragers or gatherers- finding local plants and berries. There has been some debate as to how rigid these gender differences were. However, based on my experiences, and on what other women have told me, these role differences continue into current times.

Men have difficulty finding things in the house, even in confined places, like the refrigerator. For example, when my husband is looking for something in the refrigerator, he often can’t find it, and calls on me for assistance.  I can readily locate it in front on the shelf, or I can see it behind another item. I have heard of this difficulty in finding things in the refrigerator as having “man eyes.” And women have told me that this condition extends to other items in the house, like an inability to find reading glasses, the TV remote, and keys. In many homes, the woman is the designated “finder.”

Behaviors while driving

Many explanations have been proposed for the consistent reports that men are less willing to ask for directions when driving. There appear to be several reasons for this: some men may feel it’s more important to show their independence, and they like to problem-solve, whereas women may be more social and goal-oriented. But what I don’t understand is how some men use the GPS in their cars. They may be very willing to use this driving aid, but they are more likely to disagree with the directions provided and follow what they believe to be a better route. I, on the other hand, am very glad that I am being given exact instructions about how to get somewhere and eagerly follow the directions given.

Also, although I think that men and women are similar in driving abilities, why is it that when men drive the *&^%$# drivers all come out? Perhaps it’s something hormonal that attracts bad drivers to them. And when I take an Uber or a taxi, I am happy sitting in the back seat and relaxing, and thinking about my plans for where I am going. But men are more likely to stay on alert when in a car driven by someone else. They watch the traffic and sometimes make suggestions to the driver. Perhaps they are afraid that the *&^%$# drivers will find them.

I am certain that there are men who can easily find things in the refrigerator and women who can’t, and there are women who ignore GPS instructions. Identifying these differences with one’s partner may be helpful in dividing up daily tasks, so that common goals can be more happily reached- most of the time.   

Youthful and Useful: Changes in Meaning Over Time

I did it! After having my hair colored for many years, I am letting my gray hair grow in. When a few gray hairs showed up near my temples, I thought it looked attractive, and contrasted nicely with my dark brown hair. My friend said it looked like the gray was providing a partial frame around my face. That seemed fine to me. But now it’s about 3 months into not coloring my hair, and the gray frame has widened and now accounts for about half my hair length.

I’m not sure how I feel about this yet, this obvious sign of being a senior. When a friend reminded me that I could go back to coloring my hair, I felt a little relieved. This didn’t have to be permanent. And it’s a nice color, silver gray. Besides, I think it’s a more natural accompaniment for the lines that are showing up in my face than was my prior solid dark brown dyed hair.

On a recent video call with my daughter she said she liked the gray in my hair, and that I looked “youthful.” I wasn’t sure I liked that description – was it in contrast to looking old? I looked up the definition of “youth,” and found that for statistical purposes it is considered to be the age between 15 and 24. So does that mean that starting at 25 you can be described as looking “youthful?” Since I am well past that marker… I don’t need to look that young anymore. Most days I feel energetic and engaged in life – so I’m OK looking more like my current age.

Also, I initially misheard what my daughter said and thought she said I looked “useful.” Although I immediately realized what she meant, I was struck by the two terms, “youthful” and “useful.” I think these two adjectives form an essential dilemma of aging—many older people worry about being both of these. But when I looked up useful, I wasn’t sure I wanted to fit that meaning anymore either!

“Useful” is defined as being of practical purpose, that is, relating to action rather than thoughts or ideas. I was very practical throughout most of my life, I had a successful career with many accomplishments as a research scientist, and I managed a household with children. Since retiring I sometimes worry that I have lost a sense of purpose. Yet even in my career, my daily life was heavily weighted towards thoughts and ideas. Certainly some of my work could eventually have practical application, but the connection was often delayed and not certain. Since retiring I live much more in the world of thoughts and ideas— reading, writing, visiting interesting places and people. Not much of this can be considered practical or useful, but it has enriched my life.

So, although being youthful and useful have appealed to me in the past, the meanings of these words have changed, and now they’re not so important.  I can just look my age. And living more in the world of ideas gives me something that I can share with others, and that can be useful for us all.