New word for old

Growing more sophisticated with age.

“So, do you want to grow old in Germany?”

The question came at me  when I was quite young, (forty), and has arisen more and more often the longer I remain here in Munich.

I was taken back when it was first asked. Not because of growing old in a land far away from  my own, but because, quite simply,  I couldn’t imagine ever growing old. But then, I’ve also had trouble with the concept of growing up, which still seems to be happening.

 And suddenly, from what I hear, I am… old.

At least in numbers.

On a day when I was feeling blue, I might admit I’ve gotten ‘older,’ but from the look in people’s eyes who see me, ‘old’ better embodies the fear I see in their eyes when they hear how old I truly am.

I jest. People don’t look at me with horror written on their faces. Rather, admiration, astounding, thankfulness.

“How good you look for your age!” “I would’ve thought you were 20 years younger!”

“Gawd! I hope I look as good as you when I get old!”

All compliments that might buffer my aging process, but certainly won’t appease it. I’ve yet to see someone give me a look like I used to get when I was 20. A look full of lust, longing, and an urge to reach out and touch.

But that’s another story.

Actually, most people I know and meet, can’t believe I’m as old as I am. To tell you the truth, I can’t either. I feel nowhere near as old as I am. Granted, I move from one position to the next a little more slowly. And, as there is a slight tendency to stoop more than before, I also have to remind myself to stand up straight and lengthen my gait several times during the day. But, all in all, I am more than satisfied with the way I turned out at this advanced age.

Which, apparently, is not as advanced as I once thought it was. Even though any age number above 55 sounds like a dirty word in my ear, for those born in the last generations, the number doesn’t seem to have the same meaning. Maybe 70 really is the new 50.

So, I’ve grown old in Germany. Bavaria, rather, which is as foreign to Germany as Hawaii is to the United States. I have to admit, it’s a beautiful place to grow old. Older.

Back to that dreaded word. I think now, in the present age with all the advances we have made in medicine and nutrition, there should be another word for the winter of our lives. Old is too decrepit. For those of us who have remained active physically and mentally, who have not resigned ourselves to becoming decrepit and unbearable, I think the word, ‘developed’ would serve better. Or, ‘full-blown.’ Although ‘full-blown’ rings a bit too hectic in my ears.  Even better: experienced.

I have grown more experienced in Munich. Have become much more sophisticated in the past years. Now, doesn’t that sound better?

After all, why would I ever describe myself as old when I am doing the self-same things I did when I was 40? Teaching, going to the gym, taking an occasional dance class, performing onstage, checking out young good-looking guys in the street? (Never fear, I wouldn’t consider putting on a g-string and go-go boots to wow the masses like I did so many years ago, but I’m certainly not ashamed to dance around the apartment in my underwear.)

I salute all you other sophisticated, more developed, and experienced people who have made it this far, and wish you all many very merry fulfilled years to come.