The Fountain of Youth
Perimenopause is a bewildering transition. As my body casts a wide net of symptoms, I find myself peering out at this (increasingly crazy) world from an evolving personal filter. I suppose to most, this transition is nothing but a damn curse, and I can’t lie, it mostly is. Navigating this onslaught against the backdrop of our medical system (if you can call it that) is a blood boiling journey.
Within this transition, women are inevitably confronted with their own mortality. We all reach midlife (or past midlife) if we are lucky, but our female bodies scream at us - that youth has waned. It can’t be denied, we are going to die! It could be argued though, that this consequential transition is in fact a gift. Being physically confronted with one’s dwindling time here on earth forces questions. What is truly important? How do I really want to spend the rest of my life? What will I prioritize moving forward? Perhaps men are being denied this portal into deeper meaning, deeper peace, deeper knowing of one’s self. Women walk through the fire and emerge transmuted.
But prevailing culture doesn’t see it that way does it? We live in a world that idolizes youth and devalues age. I think women are particularly affected but we see it across genders - and everywhere from our media to the workplace. It’s always been this way, though it could be argued that it’s now worse than it’s ever been. We can blame capitalism for that. We are a culture obsessed with productivity - a by product of capitalism. The vigor of youth is perceived with greater productivity - therefore more valuable. Rampant consumerism has our culture leaning more heavily on how we present ourselves than on what we know or contribute. The wisdom of lived experience is largely discarded.
Outside of capitalism, it’s all about death baby! Or rather, the fear of it. Humans have always strove to preserve their youth. Objects that can sustain or restore youth are widespread in ancient literature. The “Epic of Gilgamesh” (1300 BCE - 1000 BCE) describes a magical plant called “The Old Man Will Be Made Young” that grows in a watery mystical realm. The “Fountain of Youth” is a mythical spring which restores the youth of anyone who bathes in or drinks from it’s waters. Similar myths of magical waters have been recounted by ancient cultures around the world for thousands of years. It’s in these modern times though, that our youth chasing has reached obsessive levels.
I might be unusual in that I’ve always enjoyed the company of our elders. In high school I would cut class (usually math) to spend time at the Senior Center to converse and make friends with the old people. I liked to hear their stories and admired their eccentric ways. I sought their advice.
Lately, I’ve been pondering aging - my thoughts interweave between cultural influences and nature itself. With me, all things back to nature. It’s the lens with which I view the world.
There is a great divide it seems, between our admiration for old things in nature and in that of aging people. In nature, signs of age like gnarled wood on an old wizard tree are seen as symbols of wisdom and endurance. Standing under the canopy of an ancient tree we feel a collective awe and are reminded of the resilience it’s taken to survive through so much time. But in humans, we seem to treat aging like a disease, collectively perceiving it’s physical signs with loss of productivity and purpose, and of course mortality.
Obviously, there are differences between an ancient tree and an aging person. A towering old tree is a testament to time, valued for how long it has existed. And, as far as we know, inanimate objects in nature do not suffer ( I beg to differ though, I think trees do feel ) so their decay is seen as a process of continual becoming, not as an end. And we are not attached to a tree in the same way we are to our mothers and fathers and husbands and wives and children and friends.
We reflexively understand that these things in nature are part of a larger cycle. The lifespan of a tree is far longer than a human's, and its aging is a steady, slow process. It doesn’t confront us with our own mortality in the same way human aging does. We recognize the continuity, as part of the grand cycle rather than a rapid decline.
These are valid differences in perception but I’d like to pull the word “collective” out and reframe it as a critical piece of the puzzle. As I reason, it has a lot to do with how we are perceiving age in our fellow humans. There could be, and I would argue should be more parallels, collectively, to how we value Mother Nature and the value we find in our elders. Since the Industrial Revolution, our species has moved increasingly further from the natural world and our collective perception about the value of our elders has decreased alongside our separation from nature. Their traditional social status has incrementally waned, going from holders of wisdom to economic burden. Capitalism raises it’s ugly head again.
Nature operates as a collective. No part is devalued. Modern human culture has elevated the individual above the collective. None more egregiously than American culture. US culture emphasizes the individual like no other. I guess it’s easy to romanticize the lonesome cowboy out on the range, the boot strapping pioneer that needs no one but themselves - but this concept runs contrary to the biological imperative. Humans would probably be a lot happier and healthier if we operated more like nature, in cooperative ecosystems where each element (or person) has meaning and value. I’m not conjecturing here really, plenty of studies have been done showing that people that live in closely connected, multi-generational communities are happier. In nature everything has a role, big or small, it’s all important and contributes to the overall health of an ecosystem. We are not separate from nature! We try to be, but in the end, our bodies decompose just like everything else. Left to the elements our bodies would be overtaken by fungi and bacteria, fed upon by other animals, and compost back into the earth. Back into the great cycle.
This a colorful tapestry I’m weaving, full of many threads. But after all, all things are connected. It just seems to me, the further we move away from nature, the further we move away from the full range of our humanity. We are one and the same. If we fostered a more diverse human ecosystem, maybe we wouldn’t collectively fear aging as much as we do.
On a personal level, as things change and I forge new paths forward, I return to the theme of not knowing. I wonder if this not knowing, is also a source of youth.
Maybe the fountain of youth is a continuous returning to our most tender and awkward selves, over and over, as we navigate our way through the story of life.