Things have changed as I’ve gotten older.
When I was a kid growing up, if I saw a person walking down the sidewalk, all alone, carrying on a running conversation with someone unseen, I’d stay away and be wary. Today, the sidewalks are full of people walking alone while carrying on conversations - almost all of them wearing earbuds, talking on a phone stuffed in their pocket.
And back when I was a kid, if I saw somebody running in the street, I’d look to see who was chasing them, and if something bad was about to happen. Today, the streets are full of people running and jogging to get exercise, none of them being chased.
I am a Boston driver. It’s where I grew up. If you are not familiar with the term, think ‘aggressive’. For most of my life, I honked the car horn as if I was saying “you dumb *, what the * is wrong with you?!” I now honk the horn two ways. Sometimes still the judgmental, impatient way, and sometimes, especially if it’s an older driver in the other car, I honk when I have to as if saying “oh well, I understand, we’re all in this together”. Could that be a bit of empathy I hear in that honking horn?
And things keep changing as I get older. Two of the key changes happening now are climate change and longevity. We’ve added more years to our human lifespan since the year 1900 than all of the preceding civilization. Climate change and ageing, both with a sense that time is running out.
I read about something called ‘last chance tourism’, where travelers decide to visit places threatened by climate change before it’s too late, places like glaciers, archipelagos or coral reefs. There is something a bit perverse about this adventure, or poignant at the very least. Don’t even mention the carbon footprint it takes to fly to a glacier. What is the motivation to be one of the last humans to see a formerly beautifully-alive part of our existence?
We could promote a different type of ‘last chance tourism’. What if we encourage visiting parts of ourselves or our society that are threatened by our own growing awareness as we age? That growing awareness can happen naturally, if we allow it.
Next time I honk the car horn like a Boston-driver, what if I said a silent good-bye to that life-long habit and waved good-bye to it in the rear-view mirror? I could be a ‘last chance tourist’ to that fading away part of me, like people today are waving good-bye to whales or honeybees.
I would like to sponsor tours so people have the last chance to see a person fired because they’re ‘too old’. Or sell tickets to the last chance to see a stand-up comedy routine of ageist humor. I’d like to film the very last time a doctor refers to their older patient as ‘sweetie’ and then turns to the relative in the room and explains sweetie’s medical situation, talking about sweetie as an object while sweetie sits three feet away.
What parts of yourself would you like one last chance to experience before it disappears? Which ageist prejudice would you like to view as a ‘last chance tourist’?
Yes, things have changed as I’ve gotten older. Life is change. To live with intention is to make the change more conscious.