How to Stay Relevant in a Youth-obsessed Culture: 10 Commandments for Seniors

My husband and I visit Europe a lot. Most particularly, Spain. Lately I’ve been thinking about why I always feel more comfortable there then at home. It’s something I’ve always sensed but never really took time to analyze. When we were younger the assumption was it had to do with romantic notions about the countries themselves, and the freedom one feels, for two weeks at least, in getting away from the harsh realities of life in the work-a-day world. As I get older, though, I’m beginning to see things in a different light. The conclusion is not comforting.

I’ve never liked being called “Senior Citizen.” Frankly I see it as a contrived designation meant to make older people feel they still matter in a youth dominated culture. The term as defined is a euphemism for persons who have reached a certain age. It is most often used for legal or policy-related purposes to determine who is eligible for certain benefits. Fine. From my experience, however, the term equals a generic benchmark to describe people “over the hill,” which translated means persons of diminished capacity in almost every sense you can think of, including mental (i.e., “senior moment.”) I wish they’d never come up with it. If anything it plants a subliminal message in the minds of those, not too far above the age of reason, to sort of, how shall I put it, condescend to have us in their mist.

“Nice oldster. Now go collect your check and early bird discounts and ride quietly into the sunset.” My status as a professional person with credentials up the wazoo seems to have no bearing on my secondary status as a woman of 67-although most say I don’t look it but who cares.

Given this I’ve figured out why I feel more comfortable in Spain than in my native Pennsylvania. The whole thing comes down to old world attitudes toward-pardon the pun– older people.

On our last visit to Barcelona I sat for a long while watching a young boy of perhaps fifteen sitting on a bench along the Ramblas with an older gentleman. The boy seemed fixated on whatever the gentleman was saying. Maybe they were talking about his studies, his relationship with the opposite sex, his future. Whatever the topic, the youngster was engaged with his older counterpart. Face it. The fact he was even sitting there on a Saturday afternoon with this person speaks volumes about young Spain’s regard for wisdom and life experience. I watched with certain whimsy as they eventually got up and walked arm in arm down the Ramblas, thinking further that it was something I’d rarely see in the U.S.