Sixty-nine hit me like a tornado, fast-moving and whipping up emotional debris.

Small things. Cataracts and recommended surgery. “What if I can’t read, can’t drive and can’t work?” I catastrophized the possibilities in my mind as I reflected on my four decades as a public radio and print journalist. No Pulitzer or New York Times bestseller list, just small stories about people whose voices are not often heard, poor people, old people, refugees, hungry children. Enough to keep me thinking I might bring a bit of comfort, in my own small way, to at least a few deserving people.

“One adage about growing older is that you care less about what people think,” says Corley.

Another small medical issue arose. A crown needs to replaced at the edge of bone loss in my jaw.

Then a fever and a short, rare spell of not feeling well. Suddenly, I began to feel fragile, vulnerable to the ravages of age.

“It’s the beginning of falling apart,” I said fearfully to myself.

A Desire to Rise Above My Age

Thankfully, these are small issues easily managed. But they forced me to admit I’m heading decisively into my “later years” and at some point, I will simply no longer exist. I had avoided thinking about that reality for a long time.

Even with all my best intentions and routines of healthy food, walking, tai chi and swimming, the body eventually wears down.

Before 69 and the looming wall that was 70, I could make believe I was always going to be able to rise above my age, keep working as a journalist, travel to see my three grown daughters across the U.S., have mobility and enjoy the simple pleasures of life, like kayaking on a quiet lake, walking in the park and taking guitar lessons.

The Wisdom of The Velveteen Rabbit

One of my strategies for keeping my mind and body alert has been a determination to keep learning new things, especially technology. I started my second master’s degree program, this one called Library Informatics and Technology, an attempt to connect my lifelong love of libraries with embracing a few new bits of technology.

In the course on children’s literature, a favorite book surfaced to help my peace of mind. It’s one of my beloved books of wisdom, a classic, The Velveteen Rabbit by Margery Williams.

Reading this book as an older adult, I found hope from the Skin Horse, the wise toy that had outlasted the boy’s mechanical gadgets. The Skin Horse comforted the Velveteen Rabbit with the wisdom about becoming “Real” when a child loves you.

“It doesn’t happen all at once,” said the Skin Horse. “You become. It takes a long time. That’s why it doesn’t often happen to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But these things don’t matter at all, because once you are Real you can’t be ugly, except to people who don’t understand.”

Connect With People Who Understand ‘Being Real’

Another healing coincidence arrived during a recent conference of the Gerontological Society of America in Austin, Texas. As a journalism fellow, I had access to wise mental health professionals of my generation who are personally embracing ‘the age of being Real.’

One of those is Connie Corley, a 65-year-old professor at Fielding Graduate University in Santa Barbara, Calif., who has worked in the field of gerontology since the 1970s.

One of her guiding pieces of wisdom is from the late inspirational speaker and writer Wayne Dyer who said, “Don’t die with your music still in you.”

“One adage about growing older is that you care less about what other people think,” says Corley. “I don’t know if that’s been proven, but I can say from my own personal experience and observation that people become less inhibited in the sense of following their interests. If they have never done painting, they might decide to paint. People love taking writing classes as they get older. Many people are joining choirs. There’s so much interesting research now about music and the value of stimulating the brain and making social connections.”

She is taking part in a brain health study, learning more about the complexity of the brain and cognitive activity, especially because her mother had Alzheimer’s, which was confirmed by an autopsy.

Corley is participating in a project researching how music, movement and meditation can encourage residents in nursing homes to be actively engaged in group activity with the goal of becoming more “enlivened.”

As a person who has long included creativity as essential in her research and personal life, Corley looks at herself and colleagues who are making lifestyle choices as they leave their professional lives.

“Part of my yearning is I want to spend more time outside,” says Corley. “I live in California. My daughters live far away. I have to kind of reinvent myself. Instead of dreading worrying about money if I leave my job, what it would be like if I simplified my life, maybe downsizing, renting a camper and staying at the beach?”

What ‘Being Real’ Means

I remind myself that it will be comforting if I approach 70 as the age when I have to find peace in “being Real.” That means being thankful my sharp edges have been worn down by life. It means being grateful that even though my heart has been broken by the loss of important relationships and the death of loved ones, it still pumps strongly, fueled by compassion.

I’m bending and stretching to loosen up those stiffer joints. I greet my honestly earned wrinkles with a sense of gentleness about my overall “shabbiness” brought on by the winds and rains of life.

I remind myself that I, and the millions of others who have reached our years as “older adults” cannot be ugly, except to those who don’t understand what it means to be “Real.”

 By Rhonda J. MillerRhonda J. Miller is a reporter and audio producer for WKU Public Radio in Bowling Green, Kentucky. She was awarded a 2018 journalism fellowship from the Gerontological Society of America to produce a series of public radio stories on elder refugees in Kentucky. She was GSA Continuing Fellow in 2019 and produced stories on the difficulty of finding Kentucky businesses to hire older workers retrained through a federal program. Rhonda was Gulf Coast reporter for Mississippi Public Broadcasting, where she won Edward R. Murrow and Associated Press awards for stories about dying sea turtles, illnesses of cleanup workers in the BP oil spill and homeless veterans. She has been an education reporter for Rhode Island Public Radio, South Florida Sun-Sentinel and Pittsburgh Post-Gazette. 

Strategies for cultivating creativity and brain sharpness in later years

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I didn’t set out to write another book. I began by pondering, as psychologists do, my current life stage at 60-plus chronological years. Time passes swiftly and change is inevitable. Perhaps it was simply a matter of shifting priorities or interests, but as I approached age 70, I began to feel wanderlust for exploring what could yet be discovered in my own life.

“What’s next?” and “If not now, when?” surfaced as nagging questions begging for answers. These could be the quintessential questions of the first stage in life without a clearly laid-out path and set of expectations. At this point in our lives, many of us are still physically active, intellectually curious, emotionally stable and yearning for meaningful ways to spend our time. But how?

The Life of the Artist

In my case, I went to look at cellos in a San Francisco shop that sells and rents stringed instruments. Knowing nothing more about the cello than the smooth and mellow music it can produce, I rented one along with a case to transport and protect it. In rapid succession, I bought a self-instruction book, a music stand and a metronome.

And thus began my journey with music which led to writing The Vintage Years, a book about the benefit of pursuing the life of the artist after 60. Broadly defined, that includes writing, playing an instrument, pursuing the fine arts of one sort or another or immersing yourself in any activity in a novel or creative way.

I use the term “artist” very loosely. It’s as much about the way you might approach things as the form it takes, bringing openness and a child’s fascination to the experi­ence — what Buddhists call “a beginner’s mind.”

All sorts of books have been written about the years follow­ing retirement, but this book specifically focuses on the fine arts because of the benefits they provide to an aging brain, and conversely because the aging brain has capacities that actually help develop the budding, late-blooming artist. This is a circular, reinforcing process, and we are the benefi­ciaries.

The Science of Aging

The burgeoning field of neuroscience offers some good news to counterbalance the popular beliefs about the downside of getting old.

Research findings suggest that humans don’t outlive their quest for learning and natural curiosity. The brain, according to recent scientific research, does not simply decline, become less robust or lose its capacity for growth. It maintains its vigor quite well and, like a muscle, if you give it the right kind of exercise, it will repay your effort in some interesting ways.

The brain’s ability to adapt, renew, and reshape itself over time is called neuroplasticity, a powerful and relatively new idea. There is some evidence that over-60 folks can actually focus better than the average young person. Our ability to zoom in on what we wish to focus on may be the compensation for other kinds of neural losses. Keeping neurons firing at rates that will ensure brain flexibility is an important goal that requires effort, just the kind of effort that someone at this stage of life is ready and able to give.

The Value of Engaging in the Arts

While writing the book, I decided to interview more than 20 artists who had not begun to explore their passion until later in life. I noticed some significant similarities between them.

One striking phenomenon was their ability to focus with laser sharpness while they were engaged in their art. Whether writing a poem, sculpting or playing the violin, many described being in an altered state of consciousness: alert and aware but without distraction, in a cocoon where nothing else seemed to matter at that moment. They were learning entirely for its own sake and were much less worried about lack of talent, or what others might think, than they might have been earlier in life.

Their stories now high­light The Vintage Years.  Here are two examples:

Henry is a woodcarver. A tall, attractive man dressed youthfully in light colored khakis and a crisp plaid shirt, he met me at the door with his walker. At 96, he lives alone and independently with a full life and a busy calendar. He has the distinction of being the oldest of the artists I interviewed.

Woodcarving requires some strength as well as dexterity, and until recently Henry could lift and drag huge hunks of wood. At 68, 78 or even 88, woodcarving had still been manageable. But not at 96. Henry explained, without much sadness, that he has launched into his most recent project, 3-D art. A new beginning!

Nearly 30 years ago, Henry saw an art show that changed his life. Walking through the exhibit, he excitedly commented to his wife at his side, “This is what I like. I want to do this,” referring to a large, detailed woodcarving. And so began his long Vintage Years career as a woodcarver. Simple as that, he began taking classes at the retirement center where he lived in New Jersey.

West African traditional dance piqued Barbara’s interest, and she began taking classes at a local community center where drummers played the rhythm. Over time, her fascination with the rhythmic tempo and beat led her to playing drums in the style of central Africa.

“A friend told me about this drumming class. It was very focusing and when we got into the groove of the rhythm, I really liked it. I’ve stuck with it,” she said. Barbara wasn’t even 60 at the time — the youngest of the “artists” featured in The Vintage Years. She is a psychologist and former dance therapist, perhaps explaining her love of dance and the pulse of drumming.

Wisdom Compensates for Aging

The artists I wrote about have a lifetime accumulation of knowledge and experience, with the added bonus of a calmer more focused brain. This leads to wisdom, a fitting compensation for aging!

Arriving later in life, wisdom enhances the art and the artist. The late-blooming artist could not possibly have blossomed earlier. And the continuous learning of a wise elder is the ultimate stimulant for the brain.

 By Francine Toder, Ph.D.Francine Toder, Ph.D. is an emeritus faculty member of California State University, Sacramento and is a clinical psychologist retired from private practice. She is also the author of The Vintage Years: Finding your Inner Artist (Writer, Musician, Visual Artist) After Sixty. Her most recent book is Inward Traveler: 51 Ways to Explore the World Mindfully.  Her extensive writing on diverse topics appears in magazines, professional journals, newspapers, blog sites and as edited book chapters. She resides in the San Francisco Bay area.