In search of a new paradigm

Our concept of “the elderly” is changing with our new abilities to extend health, youth and vigor. It is now possible for those over 60 to achieve and maintain the health and fitness of a 30-year-old, skipping “middle age” entirely. But fitness is not the whole story. By 60 we carry the scars, the wear and tear of a long life that do not yet afflict the young. What happens when you put a new engine into an old car?

Our most vaunted asset is our “wisdom.” We have lived and learned for decades longer than the young. But how far does that go in a world undergoing such rapid transition as ours is today? Some lessons are eternal – lessons learned from building a family, marriage and close relationships. But some are obsolete. The years I spent mastering foreign languages have less value now with the advent of machine translation. Getting trounced in a scrabble game with a teenager with an app taught me a very humbling lesson about the power of information technology.

We used to think we could just go on and on learning, but there comes a point at which the brain seems to get full. Unless you refresh old knowledge, it fades. How much time can one spend refreshing four decades of knowledge without cutting into new learning?

Even the nature of knowledge – information stored by the brain – is malleable. We refresh it every time we recall a memory, gradually changing it so that eventually it resembles little of the original experience. I recently attended my 45th year class reunion. It was amazing how differently each of us remembered events that were so clear when they happened.

Suppose for a minute that George Washington were alive today. Would he remember anything of the days of 1776? How accurate would his memories be if he indeed had any at all from that time?

Since our concept of our own selves is framed within memories of our own past, how does the passing of time mold and remold our self-concept? I certainly did not have the concept of myself at 15 that would have allowed me to stride with confidence to the front of a battalion of soldiers, something I did regularly in my fifties.

Currently it seems that age management is the extension of youth, or at least young adulthood, into the later years. It skips right past our 40s and 50s, the years that define “middle age.” Our thirties just go on and on and on. We can start and complete a new life, chose a new profession, a new partner and raise a new family if we want. We can do whatever we want with our next four of five decades.

What do we really want? Do we really want to keep on working, let alone start over? After all, retirement allows us to finally take some time off. Now, with our retirement secure, our children grown and raised (and obligated to care for us), it is time to do what we really wanted to do our whole lives. Time to travel, write that book, throw away the alarm clock, and enjoy one’s hobbies and one’s grandchildren.

That concept defines the “golden years” and is pleasant to look forward to. Maybe even pleasant for a few years. But what happens when it just goes on and on for decades? What happens when your children reach that stage? And your grandchildren? What happens to your relationships when everyone you know, and knew as children, are in this seemingly perpetual state of senior citizenship with robust health?

There is simply no paradigm for that yet.