Well, there is time left-- fields everywhere invite you into them.
Dear Reader,
Under the scorching heat and the battles of politics in this “house of money,” do you ever look out your window on an early July morning when the sky is just beginning to turn pink and think to yourself, if the world is so beautiful and fresh, why do I feel like the opposite is true within me?
Do you ever find yourself once again in a rat race of expectation-management-and-fulfillment, feeling like time is running out—that you’ve fallen off the train that leads to the prime of your life? That with every passing day, you are older and therefore less desirable? That it’s too late for you to try something new, too late for you to remedy your regrets, too late for you to dare to imagine that your life could be different from what you know?
As a caveat, I know that I’m pretty young to be writing such things, but often, these are my honest feelings. Even at 28, I feel that 30-years-old deadline looming, demanding RESULTS! from the last decade. My own subconscious constantly taunts: “it’s been ten years- what do you have to show for it?” Most of the Olympians are younger than me, and to rub it all in, I recently aged-out of all those “next-gen” scholarships and “launch your career"-type programs, even though I feel I could still use that sort of help.
We live in a world that idolizes youth and captures potential, all with the aim of platforming and monetizing the beauty that youth brings. This is damaging both for the young in our society (so much pressure to perform, to figure everything out as soon as possible, to not waste the coveted “best years of your life”) and the old (once those “best years” are behind you, there’s not much else to look forward to). We use products on our skin to erase wrinkles and increase denial, we pump serums into our sagging skin (for better or worse), we watch those older than us poke and prod at their bodies, bemoaning an earlier time when life was easier and fat wasn’t as inclined to hold on.
In America, we’re drunk on the coming-of-age story. We romanticize teenage-hood and the early twenties. We watch countless amounts of television celebrating the glory of innocence, youthfulness, and strength; we love gawky teen turned superhero, be it actual superhero or accomplishing the gargantuan task of “finding yourself.” Our films reflect our yearning for that elusive fountain of youth, whether we flash back to it, go on a quest for it, or accidentally fall into it.
However, I can count on my fingers the amount of movies that reveal any sort of raw truth about growing older—like, older than 40. (Exceptions: Julie and Julia and A Man Called Otto). Most of the films that do exist portray growing older as a farce— generally a group of curmogeony men who do dumb stuff together, while we laugh at their farts and their misadventures. Even more rare are stories about older women, and when we do see them, they are most often relegated to the role of irrelevant, unkind, or sick grandmother, or worse, the witch-like character who grows evil with age (I’m looking at you, Aunt March and Madame Zeroni). We shove the grey-haired (or no-haired) to the corners of society, until we bring them out to demonize or laugh at them. In either case, it’s rare we see anything there that we want to emulate.
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Where are the stories of growing older that make us yearn for the years to come more than we panic about the years we’ve lost?
I’ll tell you where: in Josh Margolin’s film based on his own grandmother, Thelma. Thelma, played by the incomparable June Squibb, is a 93-year-old woman who gets scammed out of $10,000, and, inspired by Mission Impossible’s Tom Cruise, goes on a wild adventure with her friend Ben and his scooter to get the money back. This phenomenal cast (featuring moving performances by Richard Roundtree—his last before his death, Fred Hechinger, Parker Posey, and Clark Gregg) tell a story about finding purpose and friendship, about mothers and daughters and sons, about asking for help, about the wild spirit that pulses through our veins, no matter our age.
Just as tear-jerking as it is hilarious, Thelma is a stunning film about the pull to escape our fears, and about how often facing them head-on is the only way we learn to let go of them. Mostly, it’s a film about growing older in a way that is real and inspiring, making you look forward to the sweetness of getting old, rather than dreading it. It brings the older people among us to center stage and highlights their essence, their verve, and their tenacity.
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In Thelma, I saw an accurate portrayal of my own grandmothers: the freedom to be yourself, the fiesty beauty, the humor that comes with age, and the wisdom to look around and be amazed by every passing thing.
In the final, weepy moments of the film, Thelma, much to her grandson Danny’s great delight, shouts with joy about the gnarled trees along the side of the road: what spirit!
That spirit is exactly what Thelma brings to the forefront, because, in perhaps the most revolutionary thing about this movie, (spoiler alert), no one dies. This choice allows us to focus on the vibrant life of the elderly that we, simply, ignore. This is a movie that welcomes Age, that honors those who have come before and all they still have to offer us, all the while accepting the limitations that come with aging, reminding us all to become increasingly soft and that (at every stage of life) asking for help is the bravest thing of all.
I find it ironic, to say the least, that I heard absolutely nothing about this movie until Casey and I decided to see it on a whim last week. While Inside Out 2 (a coming-of-age movie, albeit a great one) swept the box office, Thelma (which showed in only two theaters here in Boise), quietly slipped in, hovering on the edges among the record-smashing new releases.
Every person needs to see this movie, I thought as we left the theater after crying our eyes out. What would it do for us as a culture if we showcased these types of stories? What if we gave just as much press to stories about elderly friendship as we did to superheroes battling it out in the imaginary multi-verse? What if we told and re-told stories of aging and becoming braver, rather than fighting each other in truly endless battles in dystopian worlds? What would that do to our soul?
Perhaps it might ease this frantic ache that clutches at our hearts from the first moment we wake up in the morning. Perhaps it might soothe the roaring lies that say you’re too late, too ugly, too soft, too out-of-touch; you’ve made too much of a mess of it.
Danny, Thelma’s grandson, allows the lies of his own floundering twenties to release into a joy of adventure and moving towards what is beautiful through watching (and being truly delighted by) his grandmother. We can learn something from this too.
Also, a detail not to be missed: June Squibb (who plays Thelma) is 95 years old and has 101 movie credits, but this is her first leading role in a film. Heaven forbid that we all hang it up just because we feel like we’re too old!
My favorite Mary Oliver poem (did you think I’d get through an article about old ladies and not mention my girl Mary?) has been etching itself into my brain lately, and has a lot to say about this very thing.
Here’s an excerpt:
Who can open the door who does not reach for the latch? Who can travel the miles who does not put one foot in front of the other, all attentive to what presents itself continually? Who will behold the inner chamber who has not observed with admiration, even with rapture, the outer stone? Well, there is time left— fields everywhere invite you into them.
Sometimes, I am so ready to escape the world—to run away and give it up. But Thelma reminded me that it’s not a matter of escape as much as it is a matter of pivoting your attention, of making a habit out of asking questions and turning our attention towards what actually matters rather than what we’re told matters.
What if we all, collectively, dropped our phones and our mirrors and our weapons and our money and our obsession with potential and walked out into the field, where it is easier to hear the Mystery?
What if we escaped with the intention of returning with something new in our hands: a story, a poem, a lesson, a dream?
What if we believed that we have something to offer those around us, no matter our age, no matter the way our body looks, no matter how fast or slow we feel capable of moving, no matter the mess we’ve made of everything?
This summer, what if, like Thelma, we let ourselves be amazed, and tell about it, and wrap our flabby arms around each moment with courage and know that is enough?
Well, there is time left—fields everywhere invite you into them.
What spirit!
-Alyssa
P.S. Other things I wanted to Put on the Internet but Put Here Instead
Don’t get me wrong, I love a coming-of-age movie. Here’s a list of my favorites.
The Holdovers
Lady Bird
Princess Diaries
Little Women (Greta Gerwig version)
Casey and I drove to Swan Falls last week, which is only a 45 minute drive from where I live, and it’s like a different world out there. The birds! The canyon walls! The whole time we were there, I kept hearing that sweet Mary Oliver refrain: there is time left.