Reflecting on a new chapter, along with my 70-something friends

By Mark A.Taylor

A cartoon from The New Yorker shows a gentleman sprawled chest first on the floor of his study. Behind him is a shelf full of books, and on his desk rests a typewriter with a piece of paper rolled into it. The man leans up on his hands and says, “Help! I’ve fallen into obscurity and I can’t get up!”

He’s not the only one to feel that way. On the same Saturday one week in December I talked to two friends, each of them in approximately my generation, who could relate. Neither of them is still composing on a Selectric or Smith-Corona, mind you. And likely neither would use “obscurity” to describe their current situation. But maybe “ignored.” Or “tolerated.”

Increasingly peripheral

“I’m coming to terms with the fact that we’re increasingly peripheral in their lives,” one said. She spoke of herself and her husband and their changing relationship with their adult children and grandchildren.

We both agreed we’d received Five Stars at our goal of raising independent children. From afar we see their careers flourishing. They tell us about their choices—many of them, at least, and we watch without comment. They read books and choose movies that don’t interest us and follow popular singers and actors we’ve never heard of. (One of them told me, “Only old people watch CBS!” And I thought Nora O’Donnell is hip and 60 Minutes would keep me current. Hmmmm . . .) We know our kids love us, and our connections are strong. But they’re forging their own paths. We tell ourselves (and usually we believe it), this is how it should be.

“They listen politely to my opinion,” the second friend said. He spoke of the staff members, all of them between twenty and thirty years younger than he, at a ministry where he serves as a part-time contributor. They said they wanted him on board because they needed his experience and perspective. But in fact, he feels as though he has little influence on the direction of the enterprise. They may listen, but he’s not sure they hear. This is especially difficult for him, because it’s the first time in decades he hasn’t been in charge of the operation that hired him.

Responding

This is the dilemma of septuagenarians: living in a world led by a later generation. Despite all the verbiage given to seniors’ rights and new opportunities, here’s the reality: Most in the 70-plus crowd are responding, not leading. We’re not responsible for any enterprise; if we’re lucky, we get to contribute to one. Younger people are in charge, and often they’re charging in directions we don’t understand or prefer.

I gave lip service to this phenomenon at my retirement dinner three-and-a-half years ago. “Life is made up of chapters,” I said, full of confidence. “Too many people spend energy looking back at earlier chapters with nostalgia or leaning toward the next chapters with impatient anticipation. Our challenge is to make the most of the chapter we’re reading now.”

I still agree with that. (Hackneyed analogies usually contain at least some truth.) But I couldn’t have anticipated everything I’m experiencing now. With new understanding, I’m praying for grace and wisdom to continue believing in the opportunity of the present moments, even when they sometimes contain setbacks.

Plot developments

Certainly it’s good that God doesn’t give you a preview of what’s coming. I won’t describe my details. Most 70-somethings I know could recite their own litany of health obstacles or other undesired surprises. What each of these stories has in common is this: The next chapter contains plot developments they probably wouldn’t have imagined and certainly wouldn’t have chosen.

And even if health is sound and money is secure, we realize how profoundly our situation has changed in ways the generation behind us can’t understand. Few at 40 or 50 anticipate how they’ll feel about themselves and the world twenty years later. They’re busy accomplishing what they must, now that they’re at their peak. They don’t waste energy worrying about their future; there’s too much they can and must do today. They have calls to return, meetings to attend, decisions to make with the doers in their own generation. The better among them give time to younger ones behind them, developing and nurturing the next generation. But after all of that, they have little energy or interest in pondering those who preceded them, their former colleagues now collecting Social Security.

I see myself in them. When I took on my final career challenge, I sought far too little advice from the one who preceded me in the position. I regret now how that probably made him feel. And much sooner than that, by the time I was a young father, my parents had become problems I loved, but only in spite of how much they frustrated me. How fervently I hope my own children continue to feel more than the dutiful endurance that characterized my final attitude toward my parents.

Twists and turns

And so I’m left to decide how I will face my final chapters. There’s much I’m powerless to control, but, really, that’s not new. One blessing of looking back at the finished pages is to remember all the twists and turns I was little prepared for. I see some victories there, but parts of the story inspire regret.

Now, with 2021 still fresh, I can decide not to repeat the errors of earlier chapters. Even as a senior citizen, I still have room to grow and character to develop. And, without apologizing for my 60 Minutes habit, I can remember the greater issue before me. Today I have the same opportunity as believers of every age, to concentrate on the one arena where I have the most influence: myself.

Photo by Aaron Andrew Ang on Unsplash