When Jeff and I first seriously considered wintering in a fifth wheel in Arizona at an RV park I giggled about living in a 55+ community. After all, I’m only 54. I imagined communing with a population of blue-haired old ladies, gents with walkers, addled eccentrics, and couples shouting at each other when their hearing aids fade. I arrogantly imagined myself injecting youth, enthusiasm, and erudition to the community. The reality leaves me shame-faced and absorbing wisdom from my elders. Here are ten lessons I’ve learned since moving into this community of “seniors.”
1. Your hair will dry
After a day of unpacking and organizing and tidying up, Jeff and I took a twilight dip in the large, steaming hot tub. An elderly couple was relaxing directly across from us. The husband kept pressing his back against the jet so that water would spurt from a breathing hole behind them. My husband is a 60-year old executive of a national company, but has the emotional maturity of a 12-year old in these circumstances. So, of course, he did the same and water erupted in a fountain directly behind our heads. My immediate reaction was to squeal and say “don’t get my hair wet.” We chuckled along with the other couple and we wives rolled our eyes at our husbands. Then the woman said, “oh honey, your hair will dry.” We giggled a little more and had a lovely soak and chat.
But this lovely woman’s comment made me think, and think hard, about what my priorities are. Sure, I wasn’t seriously that worried about my hair, but it’s true that I’m pretty uptight about almost everything for which I’m responsible. I worry. It’s what I do. Anxiety is my constant companion. Why? What was that worry achieving? Lack of self-esteem and a fear of seizing the day, that’s what. I started observing the residents living their lives and going about their activities (rather than focusing on how I was being evaluated). I found that men and women were unashamed to get out there and do what they felt like doing. The folks at the pools don’t seem to care that gravity makes their modest swimsuits sag a bit. There is no embarrassment about using a walker to arrive at Thursday morning Coffee and Donuts. The trailers that don’t have a golf cart for getting around the Park have old people bikes with baskets on the handlebars. I think this generation invented the “How Not to Give a F*ck” movement that is all the rage on social media these days.
Lesson? Life is clearly too short to do anything but live it the way you want to live it.
2. Good Morning!
Hey, at some point in your life it counts as a good day if you wake up in the morning! Every day retired at the RV Park in a southern clime feels like vacation. That’s the feeling that you give and receive as you exit your RV and greet the day and the neighbors. It’s amazing! Step outside. The morning is brisk but the sun is bright in the east. There’s time for a leisurely walk after you’ve had your coffee but before yoga at 9 and pickle ball at 11. Catch some sun at the pool in the afternoon and enjoy a cocktail under the awning at 5. When you say “good morning” to those you run across you really mean it and so do the neighbors you meet! It’s infectious. It’s not just the weather and the setting. The good vibes are contagious. You aren’t sucking in the stress and pressures from jobs and commutes and chores. The negative energy is outweighed by the positive and the entire RV Park is encompassed by a bubble of light, yellow sweetness.
Lesson? Everyone has empathic abilities. Giving and receiving positive energy makes the world a better place for all.
3. You are as old as you want to be
I thought I would be the youngest resident of the 55+ community. Maybe I am if you value age chronologically. My rudest shock was that I’m clearly not the youngest at heart. I know there are reclusive invalids living here; in six weeks I’ve only seen the lady across the street four times. It’s a biased sample but the residents I do see regularly are alive. That’s the best way to describe them. They are relatively fit, happy, vibrant, social, and active. They put me to shame. They are like my husband, who runs half marathons and looks like he’s 50. It’s true that over the past few years I’ve become older than my chronological age. I suffer from chronic pain and fibromyalgia and one of the reasons we are wintering in Arizona is to see if avoiding winter weather will help my symptoms. When I first realized I wasn’t as young as I thought, I was disgusted with myself for settling into an ennui of aging. That quickly morphed into a renewed desire to improve my health (see #2 regarding positive energy). Activity helps my health in the long run but the cold made it too difficult to get out and move. I’m happy to report that I’m on it. I’ve overdone it on occasion and paid the price, but overall I’m happy with my progress. And I LOVE pickle ball. I’ve also sat with the Stitch and Bitch ladies to learn to knit and my conclusion is that I couldn’t tell you which of these women are my mom’s age and which are my age when my eyes are on my yarn and needles. In the end, my only shame is my arrogant preconceptions upon arrival.
Lesson? You truly are as young as you feel.
4. Conform no more
How many of us have lived in communities with homeowner covenants specifying the neutral color of our houses and the condition of our lawns? Remember high school and the need to fit in or suffer the ostracism of the cool kids? Have you been wearing a business casual “uniform” at work for decades? Haven’t we all been afraid to stand out for fear of attracting negative attention? The residents in a 55+ community seem to have evolved beyond all that. They are like toddlers insisting on wearing their cowboy boots with their tutus and their favorite ski cap to preschool.
When I first viewed the bevy of Christmas lights and “lawn” ornaments and flags and signs and lawn furniture I thought “Little Wisconsin Dells.” (For those of you who might not appreciate this Midwestern cultural reference, think records set for most kitschy tourist crap per square foot.) It took a week for my attitude to shift and I ordered a custom engraved cedar sign with “Jeff & Barb Missoula, MT” from, ironically, Wisconsin Dells, Wisconsin.
What can you say about ornery, humorous seniors who have a flag planted in front of their $395,000 motor coach that says “Wine a Little . . . You’ll Feel Better”? I’ve seen everything from fake snow and figurines to model train towns to garden farkle to NFL flags to name signs for dogs and cats to motion-activated mailboxes that wolf whistle. The residents in this community WANT to stand out and be valued as individuals. There are plaques with names on nearly half of the homes so that you can make a personal greeting when you walk by. And don’t think it’s because they are all senile!
Lesson? Don’t hide your light under a bushel so long it burns out
5. “Clark, the shitter was full”
It takes a special sort of couple to live in an RV for months at a time. It’s close quarters. No double sinks to simultaneously brush teeth with your spouse. Only one person in the kitchen at a time, with the other hovering. Bruised shins and stubbed toes without childish fits. An entryway floor that is never quite clean. You can’t be overly uptight and full of yourself if you have to empty a “black” tank on a regular basis. That’s the shitter in case you don’t recognize the reference from “Christmas Vacation.” Impossible to be pretentious when you’re watching a brownish sludge flow through the effluent hose.
I do rather worry about younger generations and their ability to survive life in an RV park. You need to be able to make your biological output make its way to the sewer pipe without leaks or explosions on a regular basis. You have to level the trailer and stabilize it so that your wife doesn’t get dizzy and nauseated when she walks from the “living area” to the “sleeping area.” You also need to have and know how to use the proper tools necessary to fix: door that won’t close, cable connection that doesn’t quite work, propane valve malfunction, plumbing gasket blowout, etc. There’s nobody to call for these things. In a “real” home you can call a plumber, electrician, carpenter, whatever. In an RV park you can call a mobile wash van and a dish satellite technician and that’s about it. Everything else is fair game for the everyman living in the 55+ community.
We’re all equal here. We have a neighbor with an enormous motorhome, a Porsche, and a gourmet barbecue grill next to a fella in a motorized chair and a smoker’s cough. I fold my underpants in the laundry room next to a fella folding his boxers. We are living cheek by jowl with retired executives, entrepreneurs, truck drivers, construction workers, teachers, and just about everything else you can imagine. There are clubs for pickle ball, desert hiking, canasta, shuffleboard, putt putt, knitting, yoga, woodworking, glass fusing, and just about everything else you can imagine. For an aging woman who grew up with the steel mills and farms of the Midwest; earned a BS, MS, and PhD; and spent a white collar career in academe, this feels like a second home.
Lesson? Quality people come in all shapes and sizes and states
Next up: Life with dogs in an RV park