Long Live Longevity
On Ageism and Living Loud
I’ve been thinking about age lately. Correction: aging. With a slant towards ageism.
This week was spent actually vacationing, which is likely what most folks think Christopher and I do all the time. As if we’re professional holidayers. But we’re not, just nomads making our way through life one stopover at a time. I recently heard the term “slo-mads” for those of us slow traveling, and I couldn’t love it more. After all, verbifying and general phrase coining is a treasured pastime of mine.
Anyway, we’d spend the majority of our two months in HuaHin revising Christopher’s Middle Grade adventure story so he could resubmit to an agent. Two months for a kid’s book? Yes, because he made big changes, like omniscient to multi-POV kind of edits. I jumped into editor mode (though I didn’t know I came equipped with that gear…should’ve read my manual) to help him out. To meet the agent’s end of June deadline, we worked myopically, avoiding anything fun.
No tours. No long beach walks. One day we worked in beach chairs, but it was too freaking bright and adjusted to staying inside the apartment. I rode a pony once—because ponies on the beach, come on! And we met nomad friends for dinner twice. Other than that and my MOHS surgery week in Phuket, it was slave, slave, slave away at that manuscript. We crammed in that long beach walk and one more pony ride on our final day in HuaHin, when the manuscript edit was finished.
We deserved a break
Our holiday week filled a logistical gap between the end of our rental contract on the Airbnb in HuaHin and my scheduled surgery in Phuket. A tidy six days we needed to be…somewhere. We’ll be stuck in Phuket Town, where the hospital is located around ten days for my facial reconstruction and recovery period. Why hang in a non-seaside city (have I mentioned cities aren’t our vibe?) longer than needed? Especially when there’s an entire coastline of villages on this island proffering cushioned sunbeds, canvas umbrellas, and bar-cafes along the Adaman Sea’s surf.
Despite the arrival of the rainy/slow season, we avoided party beach sites like Patong and chose the less hustly, barely bustly horseshoe bay of Kamala Beach, booking into a boutique hotel on the sand. Mornings were spent sipping coffee on our veranda watching the “jockeys” warm their steeds up on the sand before galloping them full-tilt towards home, I’m assuming to shake their sillies out before novice tourists mounted up. (And no, I didn’t know Kamala Beach had beach rental-horse beach rides when I selected it, I swear! 🐴)
We did want to experience Phuket (other than its Bangkok Hospital) which we missed out on last time. So, we booked a boat tour to Phang Nga Bay, famous for James Bond Island (featured in “The Man with the Golden Gun”) amongst its 70 or so limestone karst islands. But we weren’t interested in the nickel same-sights tour. While our excursion included a stopover at 007’s namesake monolith and a buffet dinner at the bay’s only floating village, we went for the light show.
Bioluminescence
Wee tiny sea critters that get all glowy when their watery habitat is disturbed. I’ve seen it once before, while living on Aquatania. We’d anchored just off the Intracoastal Waterway (ICW) north of Cape Canaveral, Florida, one June night right before sunset and were greeted by an underwater fireworks production when I emptied a pot of pasta water off the swim step after dinner. I wanted another shot at this magical experience.
We exited the tour company’s van and were greeted by San (pronounced “Sun”) our guide for the afternoon. He made us sign all the necessary paperwork, which happily was far less than the legal rigmarole one would find participating in any organized activity in the US. But after logging NAME, NATIONALITY, PASSPORT NUMBER, one column on the log sheet made my hand freeze mid-sign in. AGE.
I flashed back to the tour description’s “Not Recommended For” disclaimer: Those prone to severe seasickness, pregnant women, and those over age 70. There would be no snorkeling or diving. There was a kayaking portion, but the canoes would be rowed by local guides; we’d be mere passengers. Did this company think everyone over the age of 70 was a walking heart attack waiting to happen? Knowing my husband is slightly over that threshold, I did what any good wifey with her husband’s best interest at heart would do. I lied.
We were the oldest of the group of thirteen. But babes, we were by no means the least fit. There was no column for BMI data, although they did ask if everyone could swim. They didn’t ask about food sensitivities despite including the buffet dinner. I guess if anyone anaphylacticked due to the chicken satay’s peanut sauce, they weren’t to blame. But 70+? Whoa, Nellie, hold the phone, we can’t have half-dead folks on this tour!
Red rover, red rover, send Experience right over
I know not everyone is comfortable on boats, and our history as full-time mariners on our own vessel gives us a leg up, but we bopped all over that speedboat as it zoomed through the water just as nimbly as the fresh-faced 20-year-old deckhand. We trudged through chest-high sea water in a limestone cave smoother than the thirty-year-olds, none of whom thought to snag the discarded plastic container to be disposed of properly back on the boat. (You’re welcome, hidden lagoon grotto.) Elderly wisdom over Instagramable youth…if we’re picking teams, I choose the former.
All of this “No one over 70” bullshit got me thinking. I’m 60, technically still middle aged (which, apparently, we’re now calling midlife), an era between “youthful adult” and “mature or elderly adult” roughly 40 to 65. Bee T Dubs: we’re not using mature or elderly or senior citizen or senior anymore either. The preferred term is older person. Or “Oldster” if you’re super cool – shoutout to Sari Botton for repurposing an archaic British Royal Naval term and zhuzhing into a battle cry. [Also, no one says Bee T Dubs anymore, if they ever did. Just seeing if you’re paying attention.] If the terms can evolve, why can’t the attitude that older people are incapable?
Maybe we’ll go a little slower, so as to monitor our footing to avoid slip-and-falls. But so would a mother holding the hand of a small child, like the six-year-old on our tour that day.
We might sometimes take the easiest route on/off the boat, or hold the handrail of the steep stairs, but so might a big-sized person of any age, or a youthful adult with a medical condition. (Note: no column for Medical Conditions was included on the log sheet either.)
In short, there is no rationale to limit participants due solely on their chronological age. And that really chaps my hide. (Sorry, I’ve had fun with these “Okay, Boomer” sayings, but I’ll stop now.)
Isn’t 60 the new 30?
People are living longer, healthier lives than ever before. I bet many of my peers remember their grandparents as being “old” by age 60 or sooner. When I was a kid in the ‘70s and ‘80s, senior citizens (then the preferred term) played shuffleboard, cards, and took up quiet hobbies like gardening and painting after retirement. No smoking and general wellness campaigns encouraging routine exercise, healthy eating, stress reduction, and regular medical checkups have helped increase longevity in the US. These days, many retirees kick ass on sports courts, in yoga and pilates classes, and are generally healthier and more mobile than their predecessors. As of 2024, 40 is a true middle age since the US life expectancy has risen to 79 on average, 81 for women specifically. So many of us midlifers and oldsters are far more physically and cognitively capable than previous generations.
Which made me wonder if we should coin a new term for those of us aged 60 to 80 who have more go left in them than slow, who are actively engulfing life, be it through pickleball tournaments, sailing, hiking caminos through Spain and Portugal, or slo-madding around the world living out of a suitcase with no home base and no exit strategy. No offense to Sari’s Oldster term, but she uses it more inclusive of anyone aware of their aging, not specifically for this demographic.
I considered “Longevities” but that’s just lame. Besides, no fun nickname, as “Longies” just doesn’t cut it IMHO. Then I contemplated “Vitalities”, but that sounded too close to vitals, which of course conjures images of infirmed persons entering a medical facility…the opposite of my intention. Plus, it feels like a bowling team name. Can’t you just envision the matching sateen jackets with The Vitalities emblazoned across the back?
So perhaps rebranding older people with a kitschy catchall name isn’t the answer. Perhaps it’s just proving that midlifers (and beyond) are every bit as deserving of experiencing life to the fullest as younger folks by living our lives to the fullest. Teaching by example. Like the cast of Netflix’s The Buroughs, where the sales pitch is “you’ll have the time of your life”—but with zero monsters.
Sidenote: Last week Netflix canceled The Buroughs after one season. I’m not saying ageism, but I’m not not saying it.
Go live your life, people, as loud and as long as you can! Parade around in your longevity and vitality. Don’t let anyone stop you from Moving Forward.
Your Turn: Have you experienced ageism personally (too young for something or too old), or witnessed someone else being singled out based on their times around the sun?
I keep highlighting pieces to chat about, then deleting them because I find a better one. Phosphorescence? YES PLEASE. Giggling about the verb-ifying, the horrified screeching stop at "age" (that one also elicited a wince), even the opener of "what most people think we do all the time."
Love the snapshots - and please tell Christopher I'm right there with him in those middle-grade revisions! What I thought would be easy and done is now on month #3! Slow and steady wins the race!