Identity

Many people think old folks don’t change very much. The

narratives in this volume tell a different story. They catalogue changes in the lives of elderly colleagues, changes made courageously by taking risks, seeking adventure, and making significant adjustments.

According to the great psychologist Erik Erikson, an adult in the last stage of life has the challenge of making an honest assessment of his/her life and rejecting regret and despair, thereby arriving at acceptance. The essays here, however, find new beginnings as well as endings. They deal with transformations precipitated by retirement, aging, loss and a new social setting, all of which can generate internal changes affecting self-identity. While these changes are not as dramatic as those of earlier periods such as adolescence, they nevertheless suggest continuing development.

The basic question of identity and its development is “Who am I?” If a middle-aged Bostonian male was asked this question he might say: “I am a New Englander, an American, a Red Sox fan, a Catholic, a construction worker, a father, husband, and son.” If asked to elaborate he might respond: “I’m a good friend, generous, reliable, sometimes, hot-tempered.”

These are personal qualities that highlight a self-identity—the way I describe myself to myself and to others. They constitute the language we use for self-definition and become part of an inner narrative or dialogue present throughout our lives. The emotional tone of the narrative—positive, optimistic, self critical, forlorn—is important to mood stability and wellbeing. A positive inner narrative is beneficial for mental health.

Young children have limited identities. These may be as simple as “boy” or “baby.” Self-identity develops with language and maturation. The inner dialogue becomes more complex as we become more self-reflective. An adolescent may think of himself as friend, jock, and smart, descriptions that enhance his self-esteem and may generate good moods. A mid-career worker might describe herself as wife and mother, competent clerk, loyal friend, funny, honest, even-tempered, and healthy. Again these self-portraits are likely to be accompanied by positive feelings.

Experience contributes to the formation of identity because identity is formed in interaction with parents, peers, friends, strangers, teachers, and authority figures—in short, from the daily encounters that the culture offers. These interactions usually involve language and become part of our inner dialogue. The self-portraits we carry with us, then, are created from

the textured palette of experience.

Important life events impact a person’s identity. Death of a spouse, for example, can often alter or disrupt one’s internal narrative about personal future potential. For example, one of my colleagues writes:

I was a newly retired woman, recently widowed .... I had experienced the most crucial loss of identity …. I was starting over, learning to live alone. There were seven days a week to turn into productive, satisfying times …. (Jane Weingarten)

In some individuals changes are integrated over time and a coherent positive identity reemerges. This evolution depends on an innate toughness or resilience that enables coping with life’s travails.

One of the most prevalent opportunities for transformation in identity is presented by retirement. When a person retires after a long career or job, he/she alters his/her identity. Identity labels like chief carpenter or trial lawyer are no longer applicable. The internal dialogue accompanying them shifts. This is because the ending of work often results in the loss of satisfaction and meaning from the work itself, loss of colleagues and friends, and loss of a daily routine. I was introduced to this situation when my father, a floor worker in the fur trade, was forced to retire after suffering a stroke. “I have nothing to do all day,” he would say. He added that he was no longer the worker (arbeiter in Yiddish, the language he spoke) and couldn’t feel what he had often expressed—“how work makes life sweet.” He was challenged to find compensatory ways of restoring meaning and purpose to his life. Unfortunately, he could never do it well enough to restore a more optimistic self-dialogue.

Some of my colleagues continue to work well into their senior years. When asked whether they contemplate retirement, a common response is “I won’t know what to do with myself nor can I think of anything that would be as rewarding.”

To replace a satisfying career is indeed a formidable challenge. Yet all sorts of professionals, business executives and workers retire every day. This major life change initiates a transition to another kind of lifestyle. A successful transition requires engaging in activities that are meaningful, rewarding, and often involve other folks. For example, a colleague ended her psychotherapy practice and became a painter. She immersed herself in creating beautiful landscapes and eventually selling them. I imagine her inner dialogue shifting from “I am a good healer. I feel significant when I help someone” to “I love to mix colors and brush them on the canvas and make this country scene. I am so glad to discover my new talent.” After obtaining a fine arts degree, a second retired psychotherapist friend spoke of her “new identity as a writer.” Another instance of the transition is shown below.

The time since retiring has been a slow process, letting go of a self-image that had evolved and developed over four decades and finding a new one, one that surprisingly brought me full circle to earlier beginnings. The book I was writing was leading to a new self-definition. (Stan Davis)

Aging in adults often triggers a consciousness about limitations and ultimately about mortality. These phenomena are noted in writings about such life stages as midlife and are reflected in various ritual celebrations such as birthdays where people joke about decline. As we reach our sixties and beyond, many of us notice significant changes in our physical and mental capacities. Increased fatigue, muscle aches, shortened concentration, and memory lapses are common. These changes often lead to modification in behavior and perspective.

For example, in a recent conversation with a colleague, a woman in her sixties spoke of becoming more discriminating in her reading as opposed to her usual comprehensiveness. Another, also in her sixties, talked of a dawning awareness that certain of her life goals might be unattainable and that she would have to become more selective. Instances like these suggest a process of economizing and harnessing of personal resources. They reflect an identity shift. These women are thinking differently about who they are. As they transform their inner dialogues, they change and eventually may modify further their attitudes, behavior, and identity.

A colleague in her early eighties writes:

Carrying a cane changed my relationship to everyone I met. I hated it. When offered help, I reverted to being three years old: “I’d rather do it myself!” But at HILR others carried canes …. About two years ago, I accepted that the cane was a permanent accessory. So I changed the hospital one for a lively one that looks like a candy cane. It’s a conversation piece …. When offered help I say “Thank you.” Writing about this, I now realize that this symbolically indicated a major change in my attitude toward being old. (Elenore Freedman)

Another colleague in his late seventies writes:

About four years ago I realized that I was actually old …. I had noticed I was slowing down .... I noticed my students understood things better than I did and I began to think about retiring .… The physical decline bothers me. Ditto the mental decline …. I find it helpful to look for challenges …. I participate and lead study groups. Keeping in physical shape is a challenge. It takes time and effort, some of which is painful and boring. (Peter Kugel)

I observed recently another example of the close connection between aging, impaired health and a possible shift in inner narrative. While I was playing golf with an 82-year-old talented player, he struck a ball that lofted high and far but fell short of the green. He turned to me sadly, and said, “I used to be able to hit that shot right onto the green without any trouble.” He was limping and breathing heavily, and said he would stop playing 18 holes because it was too tiring. The man was grieving the loss of strength and in the process beginning to view himself differently.

Identity changes that occur in some post-60 adults are reflected in a broad range of behavior and attitudes. For example, some relinquish spiritual attachments held for many years and adopt new ones; others more openly express their political or world views and volunteer for causes like reducing climate change.

A colleague involved with undergraduates in the greening of Harvard University writes:

Now I felt that we old dogs really had something to contribute …. A student said, “You don’t know how much your and Marty’s attendance at our meetings means to us. It’s very important to us to see you there ….” For me ... it’s about getting back into the world and accomplishing something worthwhile. (Charles Allen)

There appears to be, as purveyors of Buddhism have suggested, an increase in compassion. It’s as if the awareness of life’s finiteness adds urgency to the situation and focuses one’s efforts. A goal may be the eradication of

identity.

At this point I am seeking wisdom (which can be defined as understanding oneself ) rather than knowledge (which is an accumulation of facts). In Buddhism, wisdom is realizing the impermanence of conditional things. Once you understand yourself you realize you are nobody. (Tee Jay Henner)

By contrast, a desire for a positive legacy also is motivating. I am reminded of a Talmudic discourse that is part of the “Ethics of the Fathers” I learned many years ago. Paraphrasing, when the end comes and you appear before your Maker, you won’t be asked why you weren’t Martin Luther King or Einstein but why you weren’t you. In other words, did you make the most of the abilities and opportunities you had?

While the combination of retirement and aging is bound to exert a significant, and for some, negative impact on self-identity, advances in geriatrics have fostered the introduction of measures that maintain health. As a result universities, retirement communities, and other institutions can offer aging retirees the cognitive and emotional sustenance that contribute to positive self-definition. Institutes of learning such as HILR are examples of this kind of setting. Optimally they offer a supportive space for retirees to develop new peer contacts, learn formally and informally, and experiment with various activities and roles.

As the personal essays suggest, experiences at HILR are powerful enough to enhance a positive self-image. In particular, when members participate in social and learning activities they notice changes in themselves:

I never taught before (except art to kids in one summer). I felt a fair degree of active panic …. I discovered how much fun it was to prepare and lead a study group. I had spent my grown up life and career without knowing that. (Kitty Selfridge)

After discussing these notes with others in our self-study group and thinking more about my career, I realize that I can think about my work in a significantly more positive way: I made a valiant effort to tackle truly important and difficult problems. That I couldn’t have more impact says more about the immensity of the challenge than about my personal level of achievement. (Peg Senturia)

Another colleague writes:

For me this is a strategy of regeneration …. HILR has been an important base for this, providing a place to lick my wounds from past defeats, a springboard for developing new friends and a new career in teaching, and finally in finding a new partner after a lonely down period. (Charles Allen)

We now believe that active engagement in a new setting can give rise to a reexamination of one’s strengths and personal qualities. For some individuals this review involves revising self-images, frozen pictures of oneself or even parts of the self that are uncomfortable. Meeting new people and developing friendships, acting in a play, studying unfamiliar and challenging subjects, participating in class discussion, giving special reports, and leading a study group are occasions that may stir the inner dialogue:

In the Common Room I experienced “new kid on the block” feelings; … I held my new maroon bag with pride .... Putting it over my head, I felt as though I were anointing myself with a new identity—and I was. (Prudence King)

In a previous essay, I wrote: “I’m expressing more of my Jewish self than I used to .… I’ve been reluctant to own it, worrying that I might not fit in with the larger group.”

When someone is placed in a new, demanding situation and must perform he/she may feel tension, excitement or both. There is the possibility of embarrassment, failure, underperformance, and criticism as well as the pleasure of mastery. These stakes give the situation the emotional jolt that engages the self-narrative. Success adds to a positive self-narrative and solidifies a portrait of competence.

As several colleagues expressed it:

Thinking back, I’m most struck by the unexpected wealth of opportunities for learning about being an aging woman and for my continued development as an individual. (Peg Senturia)

I have blossomed meeting people from diverse professional, religious, ethnic and intellectual backgrounds .... I have also grown to be more patient; if a particular study group does not meet my expectations … I have learned “to go with it.” (Rhoada Wald)

I felt I was growing into something expansive and accommodating. (Sigi Tishler)

Certain experiences within HILR are more risky and may yield more profound rewards if handled well. For example, leading a study group is a major challenge, especially if it’s an unfamiliar subject. It requires considerable preparation, concentration, memory, and sometimes acquiring new technology skills. The leader also has to know how to conduct a class of peers. Recognizing this, HILR offers assistance to new and aspiring leaders through the Teaching and Learning Committee, which is dedicated to helping members develop leadership skills and through co-leading with a more experienced person. Additional modeling opportunities come from taking study groups with highly skilled leaders and from talking informally with role models:

Being an SGL at HILR was a risk .… The intellectual level of the members intimidated me .… The course went well. I enjoyed it …. If I am well prepared, I relax and can lead better. In the study groups I have led I’ve experimented with new technology… all involving new skills. I was excited to integrate these into my teaching. (Hy Kempler)

Another colleague writes:

Through HILR I was able to change my life …, to reinvent myself in some ways …. It was a magnificent, fresh discovery. It changed me! (Kitty Selfridge)

While we’re confident that HILR experiences can have meaningful effects on self-identity, are they fleeting or lasting? Though we haven’t investigated this question we argue that the difference may be less important than it seemed at first blush. Even if short-lived, the benefit of seeing oneself in a positive light is worthwhile. Indeed there is value in the momentary pleasure of feeling at ease with peers, in the satisfaction of mastering a

new concept, or in earning a compliment for a well-led study group. These occasions are relished when past sources of satisfaction and meaning have diminished.

If, on the other hand, experiences at HILR produce a more robust effect on self-identity, we welcome it. Such an effect can increase the optimism that makes a difference in the way we age. Seniors who have a positive

attitude about themselves and engage in meaningful activities are healthier than peers who are discouraged and inactive.

Reading all these intimate portraits leads us to conclude that contrary to the popular notion of how fixed in our ways we are, aging adults can and do indeed modify and enhance their internal sense of self. A willingness

to expose oneself to challenges in a new learning and social setting is a powerful way to nurture this change.

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