How to Age Gracefully – the Whole Hog

Dusk.  A full moon and an Indian paintbrush sky loomed over the Oklahoma prairie.  A coyote (“kah-YOTE”) howled somewhere in the vicinity, but just for a flash.  How stunningly quiet can our lives be when we remove ourselves from the hustle and flow of the daily grind.

I had pulled over to the side of the gravel road after two hours of driving north from Dallas.  I was lost.  Not hard to imagine, being someone who gets lost in her own bathroom.  I’d been headed to a BBQ joint, having been promised epic amounts of pig.  My family was celebrating a certain miracle, and in the Hick part of the Hickman family (the part I proudly and staunchly claim), the celebration of quiet miracles requires hog. And brisket.  And sweet tea.  And stomachs willing to stretch back to Texas.  Temporarily, one would hope.

I was in.

A song hit the radio, a Johnny Cash one my grandparents had loved.  Twilight began to mask the prairie.  It was now too dark to see the signs leading to the Mennonite woman’s kitchen, the one promising Fresh Pies (Save on Sundays).   I started to fret I might even miss the turn to the road where Epic Pig awaited.  As I warbled my duet with Cash and fiddled with Google maps, another thought occurred: how each of carries a patchwork quilt of identities within us.  I haven’t lived in Oklahoma in decades, and yet my strongest sense of identity as an American grew thick, gnarled, permanent roots here.  I am a Southerner.  A Texoman.  I am my PawPaw’s granddaughter, and my Memaw’s, too.  I am the niece of a six-foot-three fireman/cowpoke who is one of the twelve great men to have ever walked the Earth, the kind of man who, like his father before him, defines the word “character.”

When I go home again — because you really can, despite what they say — I slip into my old accent, the one that normally only comes out after a few rounds of wine.  I realize how intensely I love and miss my kin.  I eat pig.  Piggily.

Here in this dusty patch of Oklahoma, the local culture makes it easy to slip into a certain identity.  The radio offers mostly country music, and especially songs that regale the virtues of “bein’ country.”  Churches abound.  People here work hard, love well and pray big.  It’s comforting.  So comforting.  And it can make us comfortable.  Perhaps too comfortable…

Alrighty.  Saved by Google maps.  It occurred to me, as I hurtled through time and space towards what would turn out to be mankind’s finest ribs, that it’s not necessarily true that we grow more conservative as we grow older. At least not politically.  I think what happens — and please tell me if you disagree — is that we wrap ourselves in that identity quilt so tightly that we mummify ourselves. We stop pushing ourselves to explore the other facets of what makes us who we are.  We stop questioning.  Stop excavating.  Stop traveling (at least to our interiors), and when we do travel, we make it a point to reaffirm what’s great about where we come from, since those qualities (such as American-style coffee-to-go in Italy) are what are glaringly missing over there.  We criticize what’s not us — and who’s not us.

We start to slip into what’s safe, what’s neutral, what’s comfortable and comforting.

If country music and the like help define people here, then a place such as New York requires a totally different set of identifiers and codifiers.  There, we drink expensive wines and deftly pick at sushi with chopsticks and quote Malcolm Gladwell and Michael Pollan.  Northern California requires crystals, a tan and a penchant towards veganism.  I’m generalizing here, of course, but it does seem that the trick to truly aging gracefully is asking ourselves: how much of this is really us, and how much of it is societal conditioning?  And are we letting ourselves get too comfortable?

Traditions and culture can and should be valued.  But I think they should also be regularly questioned, too, to some degree.  Here are some questions I’ve been asking myself since my moonlit drive:

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1) When I listen to or read the news, do I seek out perspectives different from mine, or do I just want to hear my opinion validated?

2) Do I engage in discussions with people who don’t share my views of the world?  When I do, do I really listen to what they have to say, or do I form my rebuttals as they speak?

3) Do I take on a new activity frequently?  Do I push my physical and mental and emotional boundaries on a regular basis?

4) Do I revisit hard-won standards and opinions I’ve held for years — even my core beliefs — to make sure they’re still aligned with who I am today?

5) Am I afraid to ask the hard questions? (Especially when it comes to those I love most?)

6) Am I one of those people who values indigenous or folksy or rural cultures in other parts of the world – but then judges those who embody the American version?

7) Do I call people snobs without really understanding who they are first?

When I move to a new place, do I resist assimilating because “I’m not like/am better than them“?

9)  What other things do I do to separate myself from others?  Does that serve me?

10) When and what was the last big challenge I willingly undertook?  Was it something that forced me to examine my philosophies or cultural bents?  What could my next challenge be?

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What questions would you add to this list?  This isn’t about negating tradition and culture; it’s about keeping it fresh and valid and tailored to the individual.  When we stop growing, we stop.  Period.

Unless we eat epic amounts of pig on a regular basis.  Man.  You’ll never stop growing when you’re that high on the hog.  SooooooWE!

Tagged as: growth, identity