BEATING THOSE BABY BOOMER BLUES

By: Mike McGrew, Ph.D

Last year, I was one badly bummed out baby boomer - sadly aware and worried that I'd become an old timer. A school psychologist with thirty-three years experience, this painful realization had nothing to do with the students who constantly rejuvenate me. Instead, health issues had rudely forced me off the trails and out of the gym. Plus, my memory slowly began to forsake me.

Growing older never fazed me as I turned thirty... forty... even fifty. I actually thought moving overseas had revitalized my basketball skills, especially compared to sluggish German players who couldn't shoot but could be my sons. But it was just a mirage.

After forty plus years of forty-minute runs and pick-up hoops, I was hit hard where it really hurt in my image as a smart, youthful guy who lived by a simple motto: "eat bad, exercise good." Well, this sense of self was shattered by my recently diagnosed gout ("Eww, that's for old people"), worn out ankles, and ...uhh... my... forgetfulness.

I rejected evidence of emerging old timerhood as my beard turned white and my calf veins erupted into gnarly knots. I ignored coffee colored age spots on my hands, legs, and chest. Even when I first stared aghast at embarrassing hair growth on the edge of my ears and noticed the sway of my Reaganesque neck, I comforted myself with the knowledge that I also had Ron's thick hair and still ran four miles four times a week.

Five years ago, I was placed on the two-year colonoscopy cycle and ordered to switch from coffee to green tea. I soon began meds for my stomach and cholesterol. What made me first suspect I was growing old, however, was an impudent youngster, who, upon meeting me in 2002, whispered to my ten year-old nephew, "Is that your grandfather?" As if I couldn't hear him!

The last sad straw occurred this year when my primary athletic pursuits were simultaneously retired. I had prolonged the inevitable for months until my painfully swollen ankles, as well as, my wife, mother, daughter, sister, and finally my doctor, motivated my MRI exam.

This prompted my visit to a German orthopedist, who drained two gouty cysts, shot them with cortisone, and, in his "Ahhnold" voice, terminated my sports' passions. He pronounced my joints "de-gen-er-at-ed" and ordered a low fat / low yeast diet. Hey, no problem, I thought. My favorite three foods were only yeasty thick pretzels, yeasty dark beer, and everything rich in butter.

Naturally, I asked when I could run again. Muffling his guttural laugh, Docktor Terminator suggested, "that board game old American men play at the park." I muttered something manly as I departed - mocked, angry and broken.

Wait, I almost forgot about my distressing memory decline. I used to ace rote exams with near total recall. I could remember anyone's name, phone number - even whole life stories. Now, as I sometimes grope for names, places, or passwords, I cleverly cover up with statesmanlike pauses and explanations, such as, "uhh...gimme a sec ...I know this one."

Why did I resist accepting my deterioration? Fearful denial, egotism, melancholic masochism, you name it. I viewed old timers as slowly weakening and stagnating on their way to forget-filled fogydom. Wasn't this the necessary road we all took?

I regarded my overseas re-location, increased reading and writing, self-taught guitar playing even my homegrown songs - as noble attempts at psychologist's Erik Erikson's Generativity and Integration, his developmental challenges for older folks. Shouldn't I now just slow down, look back contentedly, and resign myself to impending geezerhood?

No thanks! Instead, I integrated myself into a Nautilus and elliptical training regimen, which I enjoy immensely. I started laughing more with children I counsel and at my fumbled recall - amazed that I always remember kids' important issues. Now, I view my forgetfulness, gnarly veins and gouty joints - even missives like this - as simple markers on my still promising life path. (Plus, I just graduated to "Challenging" Sudokus. That's gotta help your memory!)

Like many baby boomers, I look forward not to sedentary retirement but to cutting back on work to allow for new pursuits. I want to try fishing, a writing group, guitar lessons and, bod-willing, tennis. (Ok, maybe the table type.) I intend to travel and volunteer more extensively and be a real wise guy with my grandchildren. Plus, I plan to swim four times a week, sit back, and watch more ocean sunsets with my wife.

Maybe much later, with beer and pretzel (all right, wine and cracker) in hand, I'll integrate my life story and fully accept my further de-gen-er-a-tion. Nevertheless, like Ahhnold, I'll remain a youth-filled, baby boomer old-timer refusing to enter geezer-land.

---

Add this page to your favorite Social Bookmarking websites