Things I used to do
My lifetime friend Sheila died very recently, within a few days of Jimmy Carter. Sheila was my age; we were born four days apart, 85 years ago. I shall mourn her for the rest of my life. Carter, as we all know, was 100. But, reaching old age, whether 85 or 100, is no walk in the park. As a matter of fact, I gave up walking in the park a few years ago. Life usually extracts a price, a user’s fee, for the gift of old age. It includes diminishing returns on those things you do, wish you could do, and used to do. So much goes, so much capability, so much good living, that you try valiantly to salvage what is left, to accommodate your inability to do what you used to. Supreme efforts are not always rewarded. Sometimes they are even punished by physical pain from trying too hard. Yet, when you read the obits, no one thinks dying at 85 is a tragedy. It’s often described as a life well lived, a long life, even a beautiful life. But, trust me, every 85-year-old wants to reach 95. After all, 85 came so fast! Being young seems very recent. I even remember acne.
As an example, let me tell you about museums. Visiting a museum is not like running a marathon or climbing K 2. It’s a low-energy, often totally inspiring, fascinating activity. So, why can’t I do it anymore? I love to visit a great museum, or even a merely good one, and I used to do it often. I have desperately wanted to visit the new Anu Museum in Tel Aviv. We were frequent visitors at its previous incarnation, Beit Hatfutsot, where we would linger for hours. The new metamorphosis is reputed to be even more compelling. But I cannot go because my tired and always aching feet won’t allow it.
What I could do at 65, which to me still sounds recent and incredibly young, I simply am incapable of doing at 85. And that goes for all museums, many of which require a hike merely to get to the entrance. Yes, I do know about virtual museums, and virtually virtual everything. I’m pouting when I tell you it’s just not the same. Part of the charm of visiting a museum is seeing other people, sharing a space, and watching their reactions to what they are seeing. It’s not just a solo experience, a game of solitaire. It’s interactive and, for me, no longer attainable.
Can we talk about travel, especially travel to places where I’ve never been? I love to travel, to put my feet on the ground and walk the world. My husband and I have spent much of our lifetime together exploring unfamiliar places, until they become familiar. The maps of Europe, Australia, South and Central America, Asia, and the United States are imprinted on our brains. Even a bit of Africa. We’ve studied them endlessly, planning routes and visits, sites and sights to see, and places to stay. Just thinking about planning an international, or even domestic, trip is a heart-pounding thrill. We’ve been to farflung places, Malta, Georgia, Croatia, Montenegro, Romania, Sardinia, Slovakia, Latvia, and many other European destinations. Long ago we went to Laos, which the New York Times is now promoting as a newly trendy place to visit, as well as to Cambodia and Thailand, Japan, Macau, Singapore, China, and Hong Kong. We’ve been to and through the newly contested Panama Canal and most of Central America and lots of South America. We’ve often been to our beautiful northern neighbor, Canada, long may she remain free and independent. And we’ve flown, seemingly endlessly, over Greenland, long may she remain free and independent.
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The places, the trips, roll off my tongue. Each one was carefully planned and executed. Each one was a dream come true. One life equals one world, and our goal was to see it all. I read recently about a traveler who had been to every single country on Earth, all 193 of them. We have been to only about 60, and to 48 states, including Hawaii and Alaska. Clearly, however, there’s still a lot of world that we haven’t seen. And the time to be realistic is here. Our restless spirits and souls will never do the intense travel that we used to do, that we hoped to do. In this, after all, our one and only lifetime, we will never see the entire world. That is a painful revelation!
Of course, until death do us part from this life and this world, Israel will be the place we continue to visit. There, after nearly 200 trips, we are not tourists or visitors. We are Jews.
We always planned our trips. We never chose a group trip. We wanted to see what we were fascinated by and do it our way. Hence, we avoided almost all churches and sought out, wherever possible, attractions, often obscure, of Jewish interest. Yes, of course we have been to the Duomo and Notre Dame, but, more importantly, we have been to shtiebelach in Poland and Morocco and Shabbat services in St. Petersburg, Moscow, Warsaw, and Krakow, among many others. The common denominator in all of our travels has been our desire to plan what we see according to our own interests. We almost always saw our destinations by foot, and, alas, the feet have now said no more.
Walks in the park were delightful. I used to walk daily in the early mornings with a group of women friends. Unless the weather was totally inclement, we would do three miles, enjoying every chatty moment of it. It was never challenging at all. It was pleasant, and each of us felt we were doing something positive for our bodies and our minds. Our walks were good places to share our thoughts and enjoy the exercise. Gradually it became more and more difficult. For all of us. Now it has ceased completely. Alas!
Let me tell you about stairs. I used to climb numerous flights of stairs daily. My sister, in Herzliya, lived on the eighth floor of her elevator building. I chose the stairs. Another friend lived on the 11th floor. I still chose the stairs. There is something gratifying in reaching the 11th floor without huffing or puffing. It doesn’t warrant a Nobel prize, but it’s a personal goal of satisfaction. I remember that feeling. It’s no longer available to me. The one flight I climb in our home is quite simply an effort. I now yearn to live in a home with no stairs at all.
Do I miss doing the things I used to easily do? Of course! Ready or not, old age takes its toll. Some folks do better than others, clearly. But when the goalposts are in place to do what can be done and not to dwell too much on what cannot, we understand that life is full of challenges. Each Yom Kippur we recite the haunting Unetanah Tokef prayer, asking who will live and who will die. Inevitably, ultimately, we know that we all shall die. The real questions are when and how? Until then, it’s obligatory to make our lives as positive as we can, and if that means taking the elevator and yielding to aching feet, so be it.
Rosanne Skopp of West Orange is a wife, mother of four, grandmother of 14, and great-grandmother of eight. She is a graduate of Rutgers University and a dual citizen of the United States and Israel. She is a lifelong blogger, writing blogs before anyone knew what a blog was! She welcomes email at rosanne.skopp@gmail.com
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