My husband and I were in the nosebleed section of a beautiful new auditorium. It was intermission, so the house was somewhat empty. In need of a bathroom break, I kicked through empty cups and beer cans scattered around my feet. That’s where my fellow theatregoers discarded their trash. 

Before they headed to the lobby.

Where there were many garbage cans.

I clenched my teeth in expectation that they’d arrive after the show restarted, forcing me to stand so they could squeeze by. To my right, I watched some young men stepping onto and over the newly upholstered seats to get to higher rows. I restrained from whistling at them and pointing to the aisle.

I was disgusted by the den of incivility. So, I took appropriate action.

I whined on Facebook.

“When I was a kid,” I wrote, “Going to the theatre was a privilege. You were in your seat before curtain time or you sat in the lobby until intermission. No refreshments were permitted in the house, so nobody had to watch a show sitting in a pig sty.”

I pressed post.

“Wait,” I thought, a second later.

“Does this Facebook post make me sound old?”

In fact, I sounded like my mother. Mom was a champion at sarcastic commentary on social behavior. As she aged, her comments hit on a consistent theme: the ruination of society (her words).

I began to make a list of my own greatest going-to-hell-in-a-hand-basket hits:

• Tomatoes used to taste better.
• Clothing used to last longer.
• Summers used to be cooler.
• Jazzercise routines used to be jazzier.
• People used to talk more, be more polite, act more conscientiously, drive better, etc.

Nostalgia can be a bit of a trap. Romanticizing of the past is,  at heart,  resistance to change. As the Buddhists remind us, resistance to change is the root of suffering.

It is not impermanence that makes us suffer. What makes us suffer is wanting things to be permanent when they are not. — Thich Nhat Hunh

Granted, my resistance to tasteless tomatoes registers low on the suffering scale. However, the changes that come with aging aren’t as easy to accommodate. Judging from my family medical history, I can anticipate failing eyesight, a spotty digestive system, and limited mobility down the road.

Best learn some acceptance of impermanence now, while the lessons are easy, or I’m going to be in a world of hurt.

When we suffer our own resistance, we risk passing the suffering to others. Face it: eventually, we’re going to need help. If we’re lucky, our family members will turn somersaults keeping us safe and comfortable. If we’re resistant, it will read as lack of appreciation. Our family will put up with us because they love us. Yet it hardly seems fair.

And, we may eventually need to rely on the kindness of strangers, those nurses and aides who see us through to the bitter end. Adapting to this type of care is likely to be the most difficult challenge we face on this side of the veil.

Our resilience will be our best hedge against deep suffering.

My mom was a master role model. She skillfully softened her pointed observations with humor and self-deprecation, so her social commentary usually played well. There was a period when she was in and out of the local hospital so often, the medical staff came to know her. I walked into her room one morning to see two occupational therapists doubled over in laughter. Now old friends of hers, they repeated all her funny diatribes about living at “the home.”

She also opened her heart to the nurses and aides who cared for her. She knew where they grew up and where their kids went to school. She also recognized how demanding their jobs were, how hard they worked; and she made sure the rest of us knew as well.

She had her moments. A retired home ec teacher, she could not abide a poorly made bed and they all knew it. Yet her authenticity made her more endearing.

She showed me how to get along in the most trying of living situations.

Practice makes perfect. Better start now.

I believe the best thing I can do to prepare for my final years is to work on my gratitude IQ, acceptance of reality, and general openness to fellow human beings. I hope these are the traits that shine through when other parts of my mind and body fade. And I hope my ability to extend kindness is the last thing to go.

I work on this now by addressing my own resistance head on. That evening, as I sat watching the guys climb the seats, I tried replacing my judgement with admiration for their mountain goat agility and their sheer nerve. After all, I got vertigo just looking at the stage while seated.

And I deleted the whiny Facebook post.

It’s a good start.