The Beauty of Being Old in a Youth-Obsessed World

Fair Observer

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SEPTEMBER 25, 2024

Roberta Campani

Communications and Outreach

Dear FO° Reader,

Aging is a fascinating process. It is slow, inevitable. It begins almost imperceptibly until one day the signs of aging become impossible to ignore. I see it now in my parents — their shrinking bodies, their deliberately slow steps, their energy flickering like a candle nearing its end. My father, once a tall and strong builder, now stoops on his walker and frequently halts for a breath. My mother, once quick to laugh — and admittedly a bit of a cleaning maniac — now moves cautiously and leaves things to lie around with a shrug. They are aging before my eyes, and I see a reflection of myself in them.

I am 53 now, and though I still feel youthful in spirit, my body reminds me daily that I am no longer 28. I used to ski, practice capoeira and climb with ease. Now, even thinking of those days makes me sigh with exhaustion. My body is slower to recover, more prone to stiffness and less willing to meet the demands I once took for granted.

On the Strahlhorn 2006 with a view on the Matterhorn

But perhaps more insidious than the physical changes is the way society tends to treat you as invisible after a certain age — 45, 50 — when you’re deemed "too old." I’ve experienced this firsthand, finding it harder to get back to work after a time spent caring for my children. I felt dismissed as irrelevant in a job market fixated on youth and novelty. “Fitting in with the team” can be an excuse for age discrimination when the rest of the team is all in their thirties.

Ageism strips people of their voice, making them feel as if they no longer have something valuable to contribute. Yet those of us who have lived, who carry decades of experiences and wisdom, still have so much to give. There is beauty in aging, if we learn to embrace it.

I find myself turning to two Japanese concepts: Wabi-Sabi and Kintsugi. Both offer a way to understand aging that contrasts sharply with the Western obsession with youth and perfection.

According to japan-experience.com, “Wabi-sabi [侘び寂び] is composed of two intertwined principles: wabi, which refers to the fullness and modesty that one can experience in observing nature, and sabi, the sensation that one feels when one sees things weathered by time or the work of human beings. The ethics of wabi-sabi therefore advocate a life led by controlled sobriety, where one is able to detect and appreciate the impermanence, the beauty of all humble and imperfect things.”

Blooms at various stages on a rewilded rose plant

Then there is Kintsugi (金継ぎ), the art of repairing broken pottery with gold. The cracks in the pottery aren’t hidden; they are highlighted and made more beautiful because they are part of the object’s history. I think of Kintsugi when I look at my aging body. The cracks, the scars, the wrinkles — these are my gold. They signify that I have lived, worked, gardened, nurtured — that I have weathered time and experience, and that I am still here, still standing.

Nanking reticulated basket, c. 1750, mended with metal staples

Ageism may attempt to render us invisible, but like Kintsugi practitioners, we can illuminate our "cracks" — our wisdom, our resilience, our experiences.These are our strengths, and they should be celebrated, not concealed.

The human body is always in flux and connected to the rest of our ecosystem. Matter itself is. The particles we are made of keep recombining in a permanent, maybe eternal flux. Aging is not a sudden event, but a continuous process that begins at birth. We know this, yet we resist it. When the body ceases its functions, we reduce it to a clinical term: “cadaver.” But even these remains are not static. The elements return to the earth, completing the cycle. The atoms in our bones were born in stars, and we, too, will return to dust.

This cycle fills me with wonder. Matter itself is ageless; it has no fear of wrinkles.

So, why shouldn’t we apply Wabi-Sabi and Kintsugi to our perception of aging bodies? My wrinkles, my loosening skin — these are not flaws. They are the gold in my cracks, the signs of a life well-lived, of lessons learned. If we could embrace aging through this lens, perhaps we would begin to value the elderly for their wisdom and experiences rather than what they can no longer do.

Our society is afraid of impermanence and discards what it considers imperfect far too quickly. But imperfection, as Wabi-Sabi teaches, is the truest form of beauty.

A haiku by Japanese poet Matsuo Basho (1644–1694) reflects the passing of time and aging in its subtlety:

The autumn wind blows,

yet still I hear the echoes

of that distant drum.

Although I can’t run anymore or my knees will let me down, I certainly can ride my bicycle! I zoom across the countryside and enjoy the wind in my hair!

I even found a new career at Fair Observer where four generations work together (mostly) in harmony across timezones and cultures.

Take care,

Roberta Campani
Communications and Outreach

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