This Is the New 80

A couple of years ago, Jane Fonda was on the Oprah Winfrey Show, and when she walked out on stage, Oprah said enthusiastically, something along the lines of “This is the new 70!”. “This” of course refers to a person who has had countless plastic surgeries, spent a lifetime devoted to having a perfect body, and maintaining her pseudo-youthful looks. I remember feeling very resentful as Oprah paraded Fonda around, creating yet another impossible standard for the rest of us to live up to. Sure, I’m a long way away from being 70 years old, but if that’s what I’m supposed to look like at 70, I might as well just give up now if I am not willing to commit tens of thousands of hours and dollars towards my appearance.

But all it takes for me is one look at my own Grandmother — who recently turned 80 — to realize that I don’t want to look like Jane Fonda when I’m 70. Or even 60. Dare I say, even 40? Unlike Fonda, my grandmother has never worried about her looks. That’s not to say she doesn’t put any effort into her appearance. Her hair is always neatly done, she usually wears nice “slacks” as she would say, and she loves costume jewelry, never leaving the house without being suitably adorned. By any medical standards, she’s in the overweight range, but as long as her doctor continues to declare her in near-perfect health, she won’t fret over her weight. Never in a million years would she consider any type of plastic surgery to remove her soft folds of flesh that I have come to love so dearly but that she probably doesn’t even give a thought to.

Instead, my Grandmother — whom any normal person outside of Hollywood would consider beautiful — has devoted her life to others and to enjoying the simple pleasures life has to offer. When more than 100 people came to celebrate her 80th birthday with her, they weren’t there because of her stunning beauty or youthful looks (though most people are shocked to hear she is 80). They were there because she has touched their life in meaningful ways. Jane Fonda could certainly fill a room with hundreds or even thousands of ‘friends’, but I have to wonder how many people could say the same thing about her.

My Grandmother takes the time to make sure each person she comes into contact with feels special. She leaves treats for the trash collection people to let them know they are appreciated. She brings pies for the line cooks at her favorite restaurant where — although she has no reason to come into direct contact with them — she wants them to know they are important too. She listens to the stories of strangers, lending them an ear when they need it most. The people who know my Grandmother truly cherish her in ways far deeper than most of us could ever know. When I am 80, I don’t want to look like I am 40 — or least look like I am trying to look 40. I want to accept my age gracefully and embrace the wisdom — and each gray hair — that comes with every passing year.