I AM A SONIC BOOMER, NOT A SENIOR... In this blog, I am writing to and for those who believe that the Boomers will change what the word Senior means. I also believe that Boomers will change what retirement means in our society. The blog is also for those who are interested in what life after retirement may look like for them. In this blog I highlight and write about issues that I believe to be important both for Seniors and working Boomers.
Saturday, July 7, 2018
When suddenly I am old and I start to wear purple.
My wife is, as was, her mother a Red Hatter and that is a society of women who defy what society thinks of the elderly. and the first verse of the following poem sits on our fridge but I always wondered about the entire poem. Many of you have read it and it has much meaning for many. However, some of the interpretations I have read say that as we age we gain should new freedoms, the chance to show our true selves suppressed by years of professional duty or social decorum.
The dream may be there but it is a myth, we do not change because we reach a certain age. As Joseph points out in the closing lines of the poem: “maybe I ought to practice a little now? So people who know me are not too shocked and surprised when suddenly I am old and start to wear purple.
The time to wear purple and be outrageous is when you are younger, if you won’t be outrageous when you are young, you will find it difficult to be that courageous when you are older. Life is an adventure and we are the heroes and heroine of our own adventure, and it is difficult to change our part in our story as we move to the end of our saga. Contriving some entirely new persona in one’s pensionable years feels just as uncomfortable as it looks, so when you are young, create that persona and let them sneak out to surprise people every now and then. So when you are older, this persona can be brought out without everyone around you think that you not right in your head. Let them know the secret you when you are young. If people ask what you are doing tell them,
When I am an old woman I shall wear purple With a red hat which doesn't go, and doesn't suit me. And I shall spend my pension on brandy and summer gloves And satin sandals, and say we've no money for butter. I shall sit down on the pavement when I'm tired And gobble up samples in shops and press alarm bells And run my stick along the public railings And make up for the sobriety of my youth. I shall go out in my slippers in the rain And pick flowers in other people's gardens And learn to spit.
You can wear terrible shirts and grow more fat And eat three pounds of sausages at a go Or only bread and pickle for a week And hoard pens and pencils and beermats and things in boxes.
But now we must have clothes that keep us dry And pay our rent and not swear in the street And set a good example for the children. We must have friends to dinner and read the papers.
But maybe I ought to practice a little now? So people who know me are not too shocked and surprised When suddenly I am old, and start to wear purple.