Becoming a different person (Aug. 24th Portland)

I am sitting in the Parlor Car of the Coast Starlight (Amtrak) train, surrounded by people who may or may not be the same age as me – I can’t tell anymore. We ate breakfast with a bald man born also in 1960, and a man who had just celebrated his 84th birthday by taking the train from his home in North Dakota to LA. The conversation was a bit awkward when the young guy was asking the old man about his war experiences (he got a deferrment to work the farm) but it evened out satisfactorily when the boys started talking about cars. Unification. Smiles, chuckles, a few “I did this with that car” stories.

I have appreciated my life experiences mostly through the eyes of AA: I can share my story, and it has value to someone else, and as I have continued in sobriety, the same experience is understood in several different ways. Desiderata told me that everyone has a story and that should it should be heard. The complaint made by elders, quoted so often in pop pieces on aging that it must be true, is that the “youngers” don’t appreciate – and learn from – the life experiences of the “oldsters.” Perhaps it is being 50 years old and aware of my spot on the lifespan continuum, but I now appreciate the oldsters’ stories, I regret not learning more from them when I had the chance, and I recognize the youngers’ dismissal of my own stories. My children are not ready to learn from me…….

The last three days with my adult children were… hmmm… difficult for me. Since I was the oldest in my family, meaning my parents weren’t practiced at the transition, and then I just left home in order to minimize the mutual angst, I don’t have any idea how to effect the new relationships I will have with my now-adult children. I was afraid on this trip of being too much of a mother. I tried very hard to not have expectations. I haven’t seen their new homes, and conversation since we saw each other at Christmas has been minimal. This trip, we had to talk about money with Son. I did ask the roommate if Son had quit smoking. Daughter told him, in our hearing, to clean his bathroom. They argued about the best sushi place (sushi?). We had to listen to Daughter’s advice (she’s the oldest) on how to help Son (he’s 6 years younger), and I realized that she thinks she orchestrated her transition to adulthood with little or no help from us. What a gift: to be so self-confident, and feel like a competent and successful adult at only age 26!! Son seems to be holding his own and has not (yet??) fallen into any of the usual huge holes of circumstances. He confesses anxiety: I think that is indicative of his willingness to assume the responsibilities of adulthood.

When I left home at 18, I was determined to be an adult. That meant (among other things, like drinking, sex, my own space, and a checking account) freedom for me and respect from others. My parents didn’t seem to appreciate my new status or to grant me the customary respect, and when I was home visiting, they actually expected me to help out with chores! I found freedom by not going home very often. I found adulthood years later, really only when I looked back as part of getting sober, and realized that I had been a mishmash of shame, confusion, and pride. I had been both a complete failure and, at least a few times, successful. I became an adult without a clear idea of what I was aiming for. Now I have a much clearer idea of what sort of Old Lady I want to become.