The Best Gifts Aren't Wrappable
Wrapping myself in perspective this Christmas. Plus, a big holiday THANK YOU!
When I was about 10ish years old my grandmother gave me a Bobby Sherman lunchbox. I had no idea who Bobby Sherman was, and but for that lunchbox I might never have known that he was a 60’s singer and teen idol who left fame behind to become an EMT and a volunteer with the Los Angeles Police Department. After graciously accepting the gift as I was taught, I was panic-stricken at the thought of toting my crustless peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and potato sticks in this container, featuring a singer that no 5th grader ever heard of. G*d bless my Nana Rose- she was kind and thoughtful, but apparently out of touch with the zeitgeist, at least as it pertained to the middle school years in the late 70s!
I hadn’t thought about that lunchbox in decades, until last week, when I was going through some makeup sent to me over the past couple of years by some lovely brands that cater to the 40+ crowd. Some of it was unopened, and my husband said “why don’t you give it to Scarlett,” my beautiful, makeup-loving niece who turns 15 in a few days. Just then, that purple, hinged metal box with the former heartthrob flashed before my eyes. I imagined a polite “no thank you” from my niece, my status as cool aunt evaporating into thin air. Don’t get me wrong, I love these 40+ beauty brands that see us, eh hem, mature women, but I’m pretty sure they are not on Gen Alpha’s wishlist, at least for the next few decades! I dismissed my husband’s thought out of hand, unintentionally insulting him in the process. I told him the lunchbox story, and told myself I would never be an out-of-touch aunt (or mom, grandmother, etc.).
But then, I took an early morning yoga class in Miami, and was easily 3 decades older than the teacher and most of my fellow yogis. I don’t know when yoga branched from its original six limbs, but I like mine classic, the kind where I unnaturally bend myself into positions that at least feel familiar. I found myself thinking things like what is this new fangled yoga? New fangled? Do people even say that anymore? Also, did I miss a change to the yoga cannon? Was I veering into that out-of-touch lane?
And what about all of the young actors, singers, TikTok and reality stars that regularly appear in Page Six, People magazine, etc.? Names that mean nothing to me. People who are not even remotely on my radar. I had always been reliably in the know when it came to popular culture, but now? When did these unknown-to-me but apparently wildy popular people slide into the zeitgeist?
This idea of relevance and the currency of being current was on my mind when I found myself on the check out line in TJ Maxx last week. About to pay for my chip clips and deeply discounted ReDone jeans (the Runway department is GOOD), I saw a sign that read “Monday is senior citizen discount day- save 10% every Monday if you’re 55 or older.” WTF? I was incredulous. Excuse me TJ Maxx, but at 56 I am NOT a senior citizen. Keep your discount, thank you very much!
Given my state of mind, the idea that I was somehow, in this store, considered a senior citizen freaked me out. But why? What’s wrong with being “senior”? By definition, a senior is a person with higher standing or rank. Senior is decorated. Senior is respected. Senior is wise. But sadly, in our culture, the word takes on a different meaning when attached to the word citizen.
In light of the fact that I have dedicated this phase of my career to working on shifting the cultural conversation around aging, telling anyone who will listen how age has made me better, I felt some guilt over my visceral reaction. Yet somehow, the idea of being a senior before my time, and one whose finger might no longer be firmly planted on the cultural pulse, caused me to have some, well, feelings.
Talk about some serious inner conflict.
As I think about it, I’m pretty sure some of the angst stems from the fact that the calendar is about to turn again, and with each passing year the tailwinds seem to pick up, blowing the months by at dizzying speed. There are lots of interesting theories about why our perception of time changes as we get older (you’re not imagining it), but no matter the reason, I feel it more acutely these days, and in a much more accelerated way since the kids have grown. I feel it every time I look in the mirror. Every time I have to google Gen Z slang. Every time I get out of bed and land on achy joints.
But then I realize that if I wanted to know who all of the young actors, singers, Tik Tok and reality stars were, I would. If I wanted to speak Gen Z slang, I could (although I’d probably sound ridiculous!). If these things were important to me, I would take the time and make the space to know them. The reality is that I am focused on other things now, things that really matter to me, and knowing the IT person, place or thing of the moment is just not as important to me anymore. Even if that means I’m a little less attuned to bits of popular culture.
And herein lies one of the greatest gifts of getting older— knowing what matters, knowing what we like, what we want, and what we need, without regard to whether these things fit anyone else’s definition of cool or interesting or stylish, etc. What matters now is defined by me. When people ask me the best thing about getting older, it’s that freedom, that mental liberation, that I talk about. It’s the gift of perspective.
Don’t get me wrong, I still watch Bravo (I can’t quit my RHONY) and scan Page Six on the regular, and I consume lots of delicious, culturally rich, zeitgeisty content; I will always be interested in knowing what’s going on in the world, how things work, and who’s pulling the levers. But I can still be whole even if I don’t know the latest TikTok trend or newest up-and-coming pop star. In fact, not knowing frees up space for me to upload more of what I do want to know.
Relevance, as I see it, is relative. If something doesn’t feel relevant to you, if it’s not resonating in your life, then it’s probably not worth your time. And time, well that’s our most precious asset.
I have no idea what became of that lunch box, but the memory of it (and of Nana Rose) made me smile and sparked a whole lot of thought. As for TJ Maxx, I still take issue with its senior citizen designation, and I’ll probably continue to grapple with this and other challenging realities of aging that have me ping-ponging back and forth on a spectrum with radical acceptance on one end and a resistance militia on the other.
But hey, I do love a good deal, so…
In addition to perspective, YOU, dear readers, are another beautiful, unwrappable gift! I appreciate each and every one of you, and as we close out the year, I want to say thank you from the bottom of my heart for spending time with me here, for your likes, your thoughtful comments and your support. I look forward to more exploration, discovery and expansion with you in 2025! Sending holiday love to all…
Oh this is so wonderful, Dina! Nana Rose sounds like she was the COOLEST (and the kindest, and the coolest because she was the kindest ... you know what I mean!!). I love this all so much. And I SO relate, to SO much, too—you capture so much of all the feelings, so beautifully. (And "senior citizens" at 55?!!!! Seriously?!! But then, also, why the offence? Etc. etc.) .... And that you remembered the lunchbox when it came to your niece ... oh, I LOVE THIS. And I am so excited for your book (just saying). Happy, wonderful new year (now!!) to you and all yours!! This was SUCH a treat to start the new year's reading with! 💖 XXXX
I love reading your thoughtful perspectives because there is always a good story and a willingness to tie the past and present together beautifully. Well done as always!!!