“Excuse Me, Are You Over 50?”
a story about a time when this question didn’t offend me
Hi, it’s me. The light is returning! We made it through the darkest days! When I was in college, probably returning from dinner to the dorm with my friends, I once exclaimed, “Look! It’s six o’clock and it’s still light out!” I’m known for my random and giddy outbursts, and this tickled us all in the moment — both because of my randomness and also because surviving another winter in a northern city known for it’s rain and gloom was worth celebrating.
In the years since then, it’s an annual declaration I’ve made with one of those friends, which eventually made its way into text form. I sent her this pic a week ago today:
Bryan and I are occasional-to-frequent churchgoers of the Jesus variety, which is maybe a weird way to describe it, but I don’t like to tell people I’m a “Christian who goes to church” because I don’t want you to lump me in with other “Christians who go to church” who use their evangelicalism as a weapon against people who aren’t like them.
But that’s another post for another day.
At our church, as happens in most churches, there are various affinity groups available for small-group connection and community-building. Ours has gatherings for Black congregants, Queer congregants, young professionals, youth, etc. – in addition to larger gatherings that cross gender/life situation/identity lines.
One Sunday last year during the stand-up-and-greet-someone portion of the service that I deeply loath but lean into with a brave face, a gray-haired couple from the front row sheepishly approached me and Bryan.
From a distance, I loved this couple. Observing them week after week, I could tell they were friendly, salt-of-the-Earth people. But now this couple was approaching, and my introverted bubble was about to be popped. I braced myself for the mental gymnastics of speed-greeting-small-talk.
“Excuse me,” said the woman I’ll call Mary, “but we were wondering if the two of you were over 50?”
Bryan and I both chuckled at her sheepish approach, knowing how dicey the question can be. We responded that yes, we were barely into our 50s. Why do you ask?
Turns out there was an upcoming quarterly affinity gathering for the “over 50” crowd at our church, and they wanted to make sure we were invited. It was, of course, a potluck lunch – a staple activity of ChurchLife.
A few weeks later we entered Mary and Stan’s home (not his real name) with a platter of smoked beef brisket from our Traeger smoker and added it to the kitchen island next to the chili, turkey pinwheels, meatballs, and salads.
I noticed immediately that we were, by far, the youngest couple in this over-50 crowd, and I didn’t hate it. Having spent the majority of my adult life in start-up type churches with young leaders, I’d always been older than or at age level with churchgoers and leadership. My body warmed instantly and I fought back tears at the realization that I was finally in a room full of Jesus-followers who’d lived a little more of life than I had.
On our way home in the car, I let my tears flow. Bryan rubbed my knee, silently understanding my emotions. I wasn’t prepared for how impactful a simple age-affinity group would be.
Adding to my emotions was the childhood familiarity of being raised around a thriving group of “old people,” as I viewed them as a teenager, though most were in their 50s and 60s (not old! 😂). I wrote a bit about my parents’ thriving community life in this post about my Community Origin Story.
A story I didn’t get into in that post was about “the gang”1 - a group of friends my parents connected with from the time they were raising kids together until present day, for those who are still with us. It’s not an exclusive group – “members” of “the gang” came and went, but they consistently had fun together. I remember late night Rook parties on New Years Eve, football viewing parties, and pie at Perkins after Sunday night church.
When my stepdad Gordy died in his 60s, the gang rallied around my mom. And a few years later when she moved out of her townhome to a smaller apartment, they were there to help her get settled. One of my parents’ friends, Joyce, of Dave & Joyce Gustafson, noted that she and Dave were the youngest in the crowd and she wondered if anyone would be left to rally around her and Dave when they got old. This generated riotous laughter from the group, and as an old soul, I appreciated the dark humor.
Dave died of cancer about seven years ago (far too young!), and I’ve no doubt Joyce was surrounded by people who knew and loved them well for years.
As Bryan and I drove away from our over-50 gathering, I laughed through my snotty tears that we were the Dave & Joyce Gustafson of our new friendship group.
I often present as cantankerous and curmudgeonly, but I’m well aware of how isolating the aging process and the menopause era can be. I’m thankful to have grown up around a thriving community of older adults as a baseline example of a healthy community, and I’m thankful to Mary and Stan for awkwardly inviting us into their thriving community.
Stay connected, my friends. We need each other.
Until next time,
Jen
Question of the week
What’s been your experience making friends and finding community at various stages of life? Or in your current stage of life?
News + Notes
Last week I shared two things I’ve done to learn more about Black history, and one of those things was to find more diverse social media accounts to follow in my areas of interest. Here are two accounts I started following awhile back:
Chelsea from She Colors Nature. She posts about Black joy, Black motherhood, and Black liberation outside. Here’s an Instagram intro post:
Hillarie from Black Girl Country Living. She posts about reconnecting with herself through nature. She also has a Substack! Here’s an Instagram intro post:
“The gang” is how I refer to them. I don’t think they called themselves the gang. 😂
My husband and I have both always enjoyed engaging with older people--such wisdom there! At the same time, I was very connected with the 18- to 25ish-year-old crowd for a while, mentoring a group and also engaging with lots of students at the university where I worked (I’ve mostly lost my coolness factor now, I think!). I’d love to re-engage with younger people as the community we live in doesn’t seem to have many opportunities for that.
Also, thanks for the recs--just found a couple of Substacks by Black authors that look amazing!
The first time I'd ever set foot in Wisconsin was to after I'd accepted a transfer here. I work at the airport, and until I met my (now) wife made a grand total of 0 friends off the airfield.
I've been with my company a long enough now that I work with people that were born after I was hired. Every once in awhile that hits me, and it can be really disconcerting.