Are you old? I mean, actually “old”? And what exactly does that mean?

There are a number of ways to understand this issue. Does being old mean the number of years we have lived on this earth? Then are the 70s old, or the 80s or the 90s? I believe we all know people who don’t seem their stated age and who don’t seem to age at all as time goes by. So the exact number of years isn’t a realistic identifying attribute.

I wonder if we take on a certain posture as we move, or the fact that we move at a slower pace than when we were younger, is an indication of becoming old. And what about shuffling our feet? All of these observations may be caused by aging muscles losing their strength and coordination. Messages just aren’t getting through as quickly from our brain to our muscles. Aging muscles also lose mass at these older ages, no matter how much we work to maintain what we have. So skin may appear to sag as the tone is lost.

And, of course, there is our speech. Sounding a bit horsy when we speak or speaking too loudly or softly is common. Maybe our hearing isn’t quite as acute as earlier. We may begin to wear glasses as our eyes dry out and muscles there begin to lose their strength and coordination.

Then there are the wrinkles that occur in abundance as skin dries and droops. And yes, there is the graying or whitening of hair.

But any of these visual attributes can be present at much younger ages from various causes. Yet, we seem to conjure up many of them when speaking of a person we deem “old.” And we judge them as so, sometimes quite negatively, thinking they have also lost the intelligence they once had. And that is totally incorrect.

From personal experience, I can tell you that I have lost muscle mass. I can’t hike as far as I used to or carry as heavy a load. With moving slower, I find I need to allow myself more time for execution. I also have been known to pause mid-sentence as I gather my thoughts. That does not mean I’m losing it altogether. My ideas are still there and I can still organize, pursue and persist when I need to. I simply need to read my body and respect what it is telling me at the time. I have developed coping mechanisms which allow me to accomplish what I need to. I have had to adjust and adapt. I am still a capable human being.

It has been said not to judge a book by its cover. To me that means we must read the whole story, not just letting our impression of physical observations totally affect our judgement of the inner capabilities also. We must look inside and ask ourselves if this person still has positive energy they use in constructive ways. Has their life experience given them the wisdom needed to help others, kindly and compassionately? Are they accountable, accepting responsibility for their mistakes and setting a few goals for themselves?

An aging human being knows when they can’t do it anymore and can accept that fact. They adjust in accordance with their aging process. But sometimes an older person becomes angry and bitter when their ego is unwilling to accept the reality of aging, becoming “old” even before their time.

In my younger years, I know I have misjudged an old person, thinking they weren’t as intelligent as they once were. But intelligence doesn’t just disappear with age, especially if someone keeps active and involved. It can actually expand and grow in depth and foresight, sometimes taking on a view of future possible consequences that may be unforeseen by much younger persons. Our rate of recall, however, may be challenged and, therefore, misinterpreted as a lack of intelligence.

Asking Mother Nature to help me in this conundrum, I find myself meandering along a path in the forest. Stopping, I view an ancient oak at the edge of the trail. It stands straight and strong, even though it has been wracked by violent storms and stressed by icy sleet and pelting rain. The searing heat of the summer sun, sucking moisture from its leaves, has challenged the oak and yet it continues to survive where it still stands, erect and proud like the day it sprouted from its seed.

It has changed along the way and experienced each day as it comes, while predators nibble its leaves and invade its bark. It grows towards the sun’s light, absorbing the falling rain through its roots. The leaves take in the offering of carbon dioxide from the air, releasing the oxygen it produces. But does the tree agonize over the number of years it has lived in these woods? It understands its purpose — to give shade and protection to other plants that grow beneath it and to release oxygen so other life forms may exist. It is here to communicate wisdom to the younger trees, wisdom gained from the experience of years of life.

I have learned that the physical characteristics of a person may not result in an accurate judgement of all their capabilities; indeed, it may serve as a hindrance. It’s truly what’s inside, what we don’t see — the kindness, the compassion, the wisdom that counts — the experience of living a life full of challenges and disappointments. So let us always remember that growing old is simply a stage of living life. And celebrate!

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Debby Havas is an author and mindfulness writer living in Jay. Her writings describe her experiences in the healing energies of Mother Nature.