When Aging Feels Like a Privilege

plus, are you dancing the telangiectasia tango?

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When people say, “Aging is a privilege,” I guess what they mean is how lucky we are to do it. But like the phrase “aging gracefully,” I find its flavor slightly off. There’s a righteousness to it, a whiff of If you’re not careful, you’ll do it wrong.

I’ve been thinking of that aphorism a lot in the past couple of weeks, because my neighbor, a young woman of remarkable beauty and strength and compassion, recently died after a protracted battle with cancer. She left two little daughters. A psychotherapist, she wore her spiritual and emotional generosity openly, always inviting your presence. After her death, her family posted a video she’d made to say goodbye, an eloquent and loving memorial. In it, she never said aging is a privilege, but that notion—expressed in her courage, her regret, her gratitude, her adoration of her beloved family, and her reluctance to leave them—flooded every frame. She was a gift.

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