When I was about 32 I made a key decision in my career as an architect. After finishing my graduate degree in architecture at the University of Wisconsin’s Institute on Aging and Environment, I had secured a job at a wonderful Denver firm that did beautiful work, but not in the genre of places for elders. One early morning I found myself riding the #22 bus to downtown Denver where the firm officed, and the bus stopped at a busy intersection. Walking by in the cross walk was an elder gentleman who had to be in his nineties. When I saw him I thought “wow, he has probably experienced so much in his life that everything has more meaning and poignancy.” At that moment I decided to leave behind the architectural world of museums and national park visitor centers and refocus my work on places for elders. This is a decision I have never regretted.
Well now I’m slowly becoming the elder gentleman. I had my 60th birthday a few days ago, and it hit me like the #22 bus.
I have to admit I spent some days foolishly feeling sorry for myself- comparing myself to not only other younger people, but my younger self. Why cant I be as strong, fit, good looking, thin, virile, hip, agile, flexible, pain-free, have hair where I want it, quick, wanted, paid attention to, (and on and on and on) as I was when I was 32? All those fanciful ideas of meaning and poignancy (which I do realize are stereotypes themselves) went right out the window.
I have spent 3 decades studying the needs and desires of elders and creating places that meet these. I have done dozens of research projects on quality of life from all aspects. I have had hundreds of wonderful conversations with people about meaning, community, purpose, and quality in their life, which have broadened my perspective and deepened my respect for the passages of life.
But now it’s personal. I am officially old enough to get the “senior discount” on lift tickets.
I think it’s pretty clear that ageism is alive and strong today, particularly in American culture. Just about every form of communication, entertainment or advertising is embedded with it, sometimes overtly and sometimes subtly. I think of the recent movie “80 for Brady,” where elder women are silly, and the star of the show is the woman who, through plastic surgery, appears the youngest despite her age.
We are a culture who exalts youth, who thrives on physical appearance, and fears imperfection, let alone frailty and death. In doing so we turn away from aging and any value that is deeper than skin, and miss the wealth of experience.
I might even suggest that ageism is the most ignored ism in our country. No ism is good or right, but we are making some strides and at least much greater awareness in many of the others.
We typically think of ageism as something that happens to us (or someone). There is a perpetrator (offender) and a recipient (victim). Someone or some group says or does something hurtful to another, that in turn attempts to diminish them. This is indeed unfair and unjust, and perpetuates negative associations based on pre-judgement and misinformed stereotypes. It also saves the perpetrator (person or culture) from having to face the fact that we all change, evolve, grow differently, and some day end. Ageism is hurtful to us all, and robs us of seeing and knowing other kinds of beauty and value.
But my recent experience did not happen to me. There was no other perpetrator. I victimized myself. Essentially I looked in the mirror and threw all the awful stereotypes at my own reflection.
I realized then that if someone else says or does something hurtful to you, it only hurts if you believe it, even a little bit. If you don’t believe it, it rolls off, doesn’t stick, has no power. But if the perpetrator is you, what do you do? How can you ignore it? How could I, how dare I, hurt myself?
Many would probably say, and somewhat rightly I think, that these ageist ideas that I attached to myself were deeply engrained by a culture that promotes these endlessly, and are impossible to escape. I was just repeating what I had been spoon-fed for 60 years. True, perhaps, but why did I, supposedly a person well versed on the trappings of ageism, believe any of it?
Freud and Jung would say the answer is simple, and eternal- ego. It was not me hurting me, it was my ego, the force that makes us question everything and keeps us down, not just about aging, but about everything. The power herein is that I can reject what my own ego says.
Maybe the beauty in this is that if our ageist in the mirror is the worst perpetrator of all, keeping us from growing and thriving in life at any age, we can control it. Maybe ageism starts, and ends, at home.
There is a beautiful passage near the end of the book Siddhartha by Hermann Hesse, which is dramatized wonderfully in the movie “The Little Buddha.” The story is about a Prince who leaves a life of wealth and leisure to find real peace and enlightenment. In this passage Siddhartha has been meditating under a tree for some time, and is then beset by a host of temptations and threats to throw him off his quest. First a harem of young women tempt him, and he turns them to sand. Then a storm rages and huge waves crash, only to create a gentle pond that washes his feet. Then an army of thousands of soldiers shoot arrows at him, which as they fall towards him he turns into rose petals. Lastly, in the pond he sees a vague reflection. He reaches into the pond and gently pulls up the hand of a figure who at first is a demon, and then becomes Siddhartha himself. His greatest enemy, the one who is keeping him from peace, is himself.
“Your Soul is the Whole World”
Hermann Hesse
Bill Brummett
Principal
William Brummett Architects
Concerto Consulting
Concerto Consulting 