A friend of mine gave me this silly movie "Thirteen Going on Thirty", and I watched the whole thing, since my husband was at a rehearsal and it was raining rivers and I was restless and unable to settle on any meaningful activity. I realized, while watching the film, that these kind of movies like "Big" plug into an authentic feeling people have. It's that looking into the mirror and feeling the disconnect between what your reflection shows and how you feel inside. For us oldies, I believe, from what my friends tell me, this happens a lot. Who is that old person in the mirror? I don't feel like a grownup, but look at me! Where's mom when I need her?
The problem is compounded by the way we're treated - sometimes as if we have all the answers to the world's great questions, sometimes as if we have dementia, sometimes as if we don't have sexual/doubting/lost kinds of feelings. I'm not sure looking in the mirror helps clarify anything. Because what seems more accurate is that we are all these people depending on the moment. I can feel as shy as a schoolchild, or confused about what's being said, or wise beyond measure or raunchy. I'm old, then young, then middle aged, then an infant.
Maybe that's the unique thing about us oldsters. We have lived all these ages and dilemmas, and we have instinctual empathy for other people because we have literally been there and done that. We are treasures, in that way, but hidden, because experience is so little valued in our culture. But if we let it, we can be gifted in empathy and compassion, and even if I'm just in the room with the bored teenager or the anxious mother, I can feel a kinship and choose to make a gesture. I am that other being in the room, noticing, acknowledging, and witnessing them. That's what we have to offer, and we should offer it silently, at the least. Even, when it's appropriate, a wink or small question or story. We are fairy godmothers - we know what you wish for.
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