I'm skipping ahead to the last of these essays (which I wrote about 9 years ago, in my early 50s), because I was really kind of on a roll when I wrote this one. I'll still go back and fill in the missing 3 -- on the death of youth, the effects of gravity, and the contemplation of cosmetic surgery -- and put them all in a sidebar, soon.
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You've noticed how I take a nasty little swipe at Nature every chance I get. This is a whole new attitude for me. In fact, it's a 180. It is the fury of a lover scorned.
I come from a generation of notorious nature-worshipers. In reaction to the crude techno-exuberance of the 'Fifties -- decade of DDT, the tailfin and the mushroom cloud -- the 'Sixties counterculture had no higher word of praise than "natural." If you were a hippie, that was the statement made by your long hair and/or untrimmed beard; if you were black, it was the other name for your Afro. Hair clippers were the personal-grooming equivalent of bulldozers: diabolical devices that destroyed in the name of improvement. Nature's pristine creations, we believed, needed no improving. Nature was innocent and good. Nature could do no wrong. It was the drive to control and dominate Her that was evil.
A young urban journalist in real life, I was a hippie wannabe and armchair back-to-the-lander: my tiny Manhattan studio apartment was piled high with back issues of the Mother Earth News. I reviewed ecology books and wrote reverently about Indians and whale-watching. My childbirth, needless to say, was going to be natural; my medicine, natural (in the unlikely event that there was anything a natural lifestyle couldn't prevent); my diet whole-grain, vegetarian, organic; my far-off old age, sage and serene. I pictured myself one day gazing out over the Earth with a face wise and weathered as a Navaho grandmother's, peacefully awaiting my return to Her.
So what's wrong with this picture? Don't we live better, and probably longer, when we learn to work with, not against, nature? Sure. I'm grateful not to have PCBs in my drinking water, and impressed by what homeopathy has done for my cat. You won't see a "Nuke the Whales" bumper sticker on my car. But neither will you find me throwing any ceremony to celebrate my "cronehood." Like the frosts and pests that drove most real back-to-the-landers back to the city, the oh-so-natural aging process will disabuse you of any lingering sentimentality about Nature. Turns out it's easy to be a nature-worshiper when you're young, because it's a mutual-admiration society: nature worships you, too. But it's nothing personal -- a fact that is artfully concealed from you as long as nature has a use for you.
When you're young, see, you are the seed-bearer. And as such, you're Nature's darling, the focus of all her fuss and solicitude. That seemingly endless energy that powers your partying and lets you pull all-nighters? You're surfing the crest of a great wave called Procreation. The vitality and ease that fill your body, that you take so for granted? It's no different from the sap rising in the trees. Even your deep engrossment in your own personal drama, that feeling of intense importance about everything you do, is a front for the impersonal fact that for nature, for now, you are where the action is. And the action is reproduction. Whatever we may think we're here for, to nature only one thing matters: that life should go on . . . and on . . . and on. That's why I remember the feeling of being young as sort of a cross between Cape Canaveral and Yankee Stadium -- the breathless anticipation, the mission support . . . As the moment of truth approaches, the chanting rises and deepens. All the force of nature is within you and behind you, igniting your fuse, packing the stands, cheering you on -- till you hit that home run and put the next generation into orbit!
Or not. But no matter whether you score or strike out (in nature's terms), in time your turn at bat comes to an end. And then, as inevitably as a high fly ball turns at its sunstruck apogee and starts to fall, nature turns on you.
At fifty, you can feel the broken wave of nature's favor ebbing out of your cells. You no longer leap out of bed in the morning; instead, you wake up with puzzling little aches and pains you didn't do anything to deserve. What's impressed on your short-term memory tends to vanish like a footprint in wet sand, while names you know perfectly well can be as hard to pry out of hiding as impacted wisdom teeth. There's the humiliating fact that nature, once your very own fawning beautician, now could care less how you look, leaving it entirely up to you whether to scramble to stay in the game or "let yourself go" with a vengeance. But there, at least, you have a choice. When it comes to surveillance, though, inaction is not an option. From now on, the perimeter of your body requires vigilant patrolling.
Those rough little brown patches my skin has suddenly sprouted, for all the world like fungi on a rotten log? They must be mapped and watched, lest one of them go melanoma. (That's like going postal.) Merely to possess breasts or a prostate, once potent founts of life and pleasure, is to carry around capricious time bombs that may or may not go off, silently spewing metastatic shrapnel. There is a whole sinister catalogue of possible lumps, shadows, hardenings, blockages, and occult bleedings for which your flesh should now be mineswept yearly. You who may once have shunned the lowly hair clipper must now submit your body -- gratefully! -- to the mashing mammograph, the bitter endoscope, the claustral CAT scan. In an ironic reversal, technology is now your faithful bodyguard, while you have a dawning suspicion that your old friend Nature is . . . is . . .
Nature is trying to kill you!
Tell me this: if it's really just stress and toxic pollutants that are killing us, and natural wonders like fiber, dong quai, and beta-carotene that are going to save us, how come most Stone Age skeletons that have been found died in their thirties, back when life was as "natural" as it gets? Since then, it seems that every way we've found to outwit nature, nature has twisted into a new way to outwit us: goodbye hunger, hello heart disease; acquire more comforts and years, get more cancers for free. Coming soon: the dark side of cloning and genetic engineering. The hard fact is, from nature's point of view your continued existence after fifty is more than just a matter of indifference; it''s an active nuisance. Move along, you! You''re taking up space and breathing air that could be used by someone who is reproducing! Nature would just as soon be rid of you, which is why the rate of most major illnesses -- and your annual life insurance premium -- rises sharply after fifty.
You're rediscovering for yourself one of the main reasons why a sizable chunk of humanity turned away from Nature, a deity who frankly doesn't give a damn, to a God who watches over the sparrow's fall. Individuality is natural -- I know that every cat has it, and I don't doubt that every mouse does too -- but the cherishing of the individual is not. The raw materials for love -- sex, maternity, sociability -- are natural. Love itself is not. To treasure someone's voice and face and presence just for its own sake, for no advantage -- indeed, sometimes at great disadvantage -- is an unnatural act. To struggle to keep an ailing parent alive, to devote yourself to a handicapped child, to keep your marriage when all about you are losing theirs, to save a nondescript animal from the street and watch its uniqueness blossom -- these are profoundly unnatural acts. When you turn fifty, and nature turns on you, you are forced and freed to recognize that some of the best things in life are not natural. And what nature did not create is not hers to destroy.
William Butler Yeats, among other distinctions surely the greatest poet of aging who ever lived, wrote a poem when he was 62, called "Sailing to Byzantium," which was assigned reading in college freshman English when I was 17. "That is no country for old men," the poem begins. It goes on to detail all the fervid, heedless celebrations of the flesh -- "The young/ In one another's arms," singing birds, spawning fish -- that surround and ignore the poet, making him feel like nothing but a "tattered coat upon a stick." For an older person not to despair, that "sensual music" must be drowned out by the louder singing of the soul, which is inspired by "studying/ Monuments of its own magnificence." In search of these, the poet has set sail for "the holy city of Byzantium."
Our instructors patiently explained to us (as we squirmed in our plum-smooth skins, daydreaming of being back in one another's arms) that "that country" was the natural world with its "dying generations," while Byzantium, a ""holy city" of gold mosaics and stiff, iconic saints, was Yeats's metaphor for the realm of the spirit -- that infinitely consoling refuge from mortality that we find in faith, and art, and intellect. "Natural," in this poem, is a dirty word. Whatever is born breeds and dies. But the things and thoughts and vows we make -- like the poem itself, an enameled form singing to us from "a golden bough" -- can aspire to "the artifice of eternity."
I was like, "Huh?" Why on earth would anyone prefer a cold gold bird to the warm, throbbing real thing? Who could find a picture of some stiff old saint superior to an armful of supple young lover? At seventeen, the very word "artifice" offended me. This is no poem for young students. But it is high on the reading list for anyone who's turned fifty and had his or her own shocking falling-out with nature. (Read Yeats and you'll see that he was very much the lover scorned. In another poem, at 61, he admits, "only an aching heart/ Conceives a changeless work of art.") To worship nature is, unavoidably, to worship youth; to live through the death of youth is to develop a new respect for artifice. And not only the lofty kind that preserves life's precious, perishable moments in an eternity of words or paint or gold, but also the humbler kind that buys time for more such moments.
So let's hear it for mammograms, and colonoscopy, and all those other unnatural acts that keep us around longer to savor birdsong and Beethoven, sunsets and the Sistine ceiling, Yeats's poems and the young -- and not so young -- in one another's arms.
I believe in nature. I am very skeptical about the idea that stone age people died at 30. Were they only 30, or just so healthy they had the skeleton of a young person?
We have examples of societies where people live natural lives and survive to very old age. I do not think we really have the facts on longevity and health. A lot of it is confused and mixed up with medical mythology.
By the way Amba you look great. Yes, some older women look awful, but I think that's mostly life style.
I am not disagreeing with your entire post. It's true that nature can be very cruel, from our perspective. Some people I love would not be alive now if not for medical technology.
But we should not get carried away with admiration for our unnatural society. A lot of it is very bad. The medical drugs being pushed on everyone are often very bad. AIDS drugs are probably very bad. Be skeptical when wishful thinking and big money are involved.
I think cancer is caused by pollution, not by nature. Most of us are not kept alive by medical science. We are surviving in spite of it, and in spite of all the unnatural chemicals and radiation.
The people I know who were saved by medicine were saved by surgical technology -- our civilization has developed great technology -- not by medical science. Our medical science is non-holistic and lacking in wisdom (well that might change thanks to the shocking disappointments of the Human Genome Project -- holistic biology seems to be on the horizon, at last).
Posted by: realpc | May 24, 2007 at 06:54 AM
Realpc - "Surgical Technology" - Yes! .... I can personally attest!
Posted by: GN | May 24, 2007 at 07:15 AM
Thoughts:
Aging is natural.
Death is natural.
Deformities, natural too.
Menopause -- yup.
You weren't worshipping nature. You were living amidst the comforts man made -- nothing wrong with that -- worshipping good health or youth. True nature can be very ugly, painful, and deadly. If you see this young, you can appreciate some manmade things and stay away from others, simply preferring nature as we know her through the years and not the unknown effects of manmade things. If you had truly lived naturally and not in the city surround by other people but not so much other living things, you probably wouldn't have had youth around for so long as to miss it. Those cracks, wrinkles, skin spots, and tragedies now being confronted in age were simply accepted as a part of life, encountered much younger then.
ps. In the 10 years since you wrote this, people are understanding more what it is to age, and there's a general acceptance that 50 need not be all that bad. Really, foster parent if you're still feeling left out not reproducing. That's a myth to think only reproduction advances us and is the only possible contribution in nature. Simply not true and your argument seems to rely so much on it.
Posted by: ThinkItThroughNow... | May 24, 2007 at 08:25 AM
You people are bumming me out, man. 50 need to be all that bad? Actually 50's been great for me. Even 52 is working pretty well. I'm in better shape than I was at 40, marginally smarter, no poorer. Somehow I doubt the improvement trend will continue, but frankly I'm amazed to find myself still alive at this age. It's all gravy from here on in.
Posted by: Michael Reynolds | May 24, 2007 at 08:32 AM
I'm finding 60 and beyond a lot easier to take than early 50s. Could be a m/f difference. (Not the expletive. Boy/girl.) I had a really hard time letting go of youth, maybe because I really only began to enjoy it in my early 40s (which nowadays, I would argue, is still part of youth).
Posted by: amba | May 24, 2007 at 08:41 AM
I agree with Michael Reynolds again. I am over 50 and my life is better and keeps improving. Sure I know that can't go on forever.
Life was not great when I was young so now doesn't seem so bad. I'm healthier now, and certainly not as poor.
I'm still competing in the job market so I find the stereotypes threatening and unfair. I don't think you have to be young to be smart and good at technology.
Posted by: realpc | May 24, 2007 at 08:53 AM
I just turned 55 a couple of weeks ago. I don't spend too much time on how old I am getting because there isn't a damn thing I can do about it. We all knew it was coming. I'm thankful I still feel good and still able to do the work I love. I figure that is worth something.
Posted by: spud | May 24, 2007 at 11:02 AM
Gorgeously written. I'm rounding the bend on 50 and am fascinated by these posts. I've recently been treated to a whole new range of aches and pains that have baffled and panicked me and I'm trying to get to know my aging body better: what I can expect more of in the future and what I can stave off. But living in L.A. where so many people go to extraordinary freak-show lengths to simulate the appearance of youth, I want to scream "STOP!"
Posted by: Danny | May 24, 2007 at 12:43 PM
Many of the reactions to these essays have been "Come on, it's not so bad." True, when you're in good health and shape, it's not so bad. But it is a major, confounding change (this is not only true for women, is it?), and I've wondered whether all the good things people are saying about being 50 only reflect their experience, or also come out of the American "Positive Thinking" tradition, the taboo on admitting everything isn't predominantly rosy.
I myself, when I wrote these essays, was trying to find the silver lining, but I felt I also had to face up to the loss and dismay.
Posted by: amba | May 24, 2007 at 12:51 PM
The "death of youth" essay is really the main one, and I haven't posted it yet.
Posted by: amba | May 24, 2007 at 12:53 PM
Have you heard this one amba?
Two ships were once seen near land. One of them was leaving the harbor, and the other was coming into it. Everyone was cheering the outgoing ship, but the incoming ship was scarcely noticed. A wise man standing nearby explained the people's reaction. "Rejoice not," he said, "over the ship that is setting out to sea, for you know not what desiny awaits it, what storms it may encounter, what dangers lurk before it. Rejoice rather ver the ship that has reached port safely and brought back all its passengers in peace."
It is the way of the world, that when a human being is born, all rejoice; but when he dies, all sorrow. It should be the other way around. No one can tell what troubles await the developing child on its journey through life. But when a man has lived well and dies in peace, all should rejoice, for he has completed his journey successfully, and he is departing from this world with the imperishable crown. ~MIDRASH
So what's a few more minor aches and pains in the morning compared to the imperishable crown? Though you may be onto something with that NormanVincentPeale positive thinking thing...
Posted by: ThinkItThroughNow... | May 24, 2007 at 01:14 PM
Nicely done, amba. But I feel quite differently about nature, youth, getting old.
I reveled in my youthful body to the extent that I hardly thought about it. It did what I asked and that was that. Nowadays, at 66, my body is slower, my stamina wanes earlier in the day and dear god, my brain is useless for anything except practiced, mundane tasks after 3PM or 4PM.
These things don't bother me and I've adapted without much fuss. To the extent that I may be aging typically, I like tracking how my body, my mind, beliefs and attitudes change with the passage of time. To remain at one age is to be almost dead, I think; to be like a bug trapped in amber.
Perhaps it is aging's more reflective sensibility, of which youth knows little, but I am amazed these days at how much joy there is in watching the cat's intensity at his bath, in the exuberance of spring here in Maine which comes nearly a month later than it did when I lived in New York City, tending young plants to bring them to a healthy adulthood in summer, and in watching the seagulls' soar (although I curse them when they crap on my car).
These sound like such small pleasures when I write them down, but they are as important now as whatever it was that excited me when I was 20, 30 and 40.
Posted by: Ronni Bennett | May 24, 2007 at 07:58 PM
I don't feel that way now, Ronni. I felt that way at the point when I was really giving up youth -- late 40s to early 50s.
Also, of course, everybody's story is unique. I didn't really feel attractive or confident before 40, so I guess I hadn't quite had my fill of enjoying being young. (I doubt that anyone enjoys being really young, that's torture, but 40 was wonderful.)
Posted by: amba | May 24, 2007 at 08:27 PM
Anyway, I didn't mean to stop at "me, me, me" but to thank you for so beautifully delineating what is to look forward to: some of the same peace and absorption there was before sex kicked in, but with so much added poignance and perspective.
Posted by: amba | May 24, 2007 at 08:39 PM
ThinkItThrough: thank you very much for that story.
Posted by: amba | May 24, 2007 at 08:41 PM
I recently had an experience that demonstrated both the good and the bad about being 52. I realized I've been carrying around too much baggage. I don't mean emotional baggage...I mean actual baggage!
I've been carrying a heavy backpack and a big tote bag every day of my adult life, especially, but not limited to, the days where I leave my house at 8:30 AM and don't make it home until after 8:30 PM.
Lately, I've been getting pains in my knees that have made jumping off the bus into an exercise in agony. In fact, what am I still doing jumping off a bus at all? What am I, a paratrooper?
I had to admit it was time to pare down. The thought made me panicky. What if I need something?
Then I answered myself, "Oh, bullshit. You know what you need."
So that's the upside to 50: You know what you need.
Posted by: Melinda | May 24, 2007 at 10:52 PM
You can tell she was in stand-up. "What am I, a paratrooper?"
Posted by: amba | May 24, 2007 at 10:59 PM
Maybe the ideal age is different for everyone. Some people reach their height in their teens, others in their 20s, 30s, etc. Some may reach it after 50 or 60.
From what I've heard, the typical happiest age is around 40. But it wasn't very happy for me because of an arduous career change.
I don't think I reached my happiest age yet, so I still have something to look forward to.
Physical problems are of course more likely as you get older. But the usual explanation -- that our bodies gradually wear out -- is not necessarily correct. I think it's because we've been practicing our bad habits longer.
I think I have some good advice, which is very hard to follow -- be conscious of your bad habits because they are going to make your life miserable eventually. As you become conscious of them, you will have some ability to change them.
Of course, yes, the body wears out no matter what you do. But those bad habits will make it happen much, much faster. Your MD won't tell you anything about this, because he/she did not learn it in school. Chiropractors do, though.
If your posture is even slightly off, certain muscles will become chronically tense and others will become weak. This affects nerve functioning, which disrupts the circulation of life energy. Life energy keeps us alive and makes us feel great, and the health of every organ depends on it.
Too bad MDs deny life energy exists.
Posted by: realpc | May 25, 2007 at 12:06 PM
When I first turned 50 I was ecstatic. It was such a happy momentous occasion for me. I felt like YES! I'm here and I'm worthwhile!! Now that I'm looking at 51 I have really begun to mourn my youthful beauty, body, etc. The freedom I had as a single woman. The many adventures I had, the sexual and romantic, the trips, the partying, all the many laughs with the many wonderful friends I've had over these many years. I feel so sad about not being that girl anymore. I look at photographs of myself at 30 and think damn! Why didn't I appreciate myself more?! I was so beautiful, so thin, so young. Sigh ... ageing has its benefits it's true. Nothing like knowing yourself and not putting up with B.S. anymore. But the weight gain, the loss of youth and beauty is hard to say goodbye to. But say good by I must. Perhaps it is only hormones fueling this poingnant wistfulness - whatever the case, youth was wonderful (though I didn't feel that way at the time). Well, no going back. It is better than being dead and at least I have a lot of wonderful memories to look back on and to share with others.
Posted by: Debbie | November 20, 2007 at 01:46 PM
I am 23 years old, and I agree with every word you have to say here. I just realized when I woke up this morning that Nature is trying to kill us all. After all, were it not for the unnatural Agricultural Revolution of 6000 BC, we would never have formed civilization as we know it. Because we'd be extinct. Because we'd have had no food when the herds left us.
Posted by: William | July 05, 2008 at 01:37 PM
Kudos to you, William, for resisting nature's flattery!
Posted by: amba | July 05, 2008 at 02:41 PM
I'd prefer reincarnation to your "heaven and hell" god. That way, I'd have YOUTH again someday, not the cold stiffness of a medieval "afterlife" to look forward to.
Give me "Nature" any day..!
Posted by: Brendan | June 14, 2010 at 06:11 PM
Although Yeats wasn't talking about literal heaven and hell, but about the consoling permanence of art, I would prefer reincarnation too.
Posted by: amba | June 17, 2010 at 11:31 AM