No Voluntary Shrinking Here

So much of aging is about relinquishment.

This comes in many forms. Sometimes, an older person’s physical condition is such that they have to relinquish doing certain things like driving and living on their own. To me that’s coping with reality. If I break my hip and can’t maneuver stairs anymore, I can’t keep living in this old, three-story house. I get that. Anybody would understand that. Still, I can relinquish a whole lot and still be a pretty high functioning person as long as I don’t accept the relinquishment as surrender to meaninglessness as a person.

And then there’s presumptive relinquishment. This is when other people figure that, because of your age, you ought to move to a smaller place, not drive at night, cut back on your activities, you know, because you’re older and have limited capacity. This is a hard one because presumptive relinquishment often comes with great sweetness and care. ‘It’s only that I care about you that I think you’d be a lot happier doing X, Y, or Z.’ To me, this is the equivalent of ‘obeying in advance.’ a phrase used a lot right now in our insanely weird and increasingly fascist political environment.

And then there’s anticipatory relinquishment. This is the one we old people own – where we have accepted and endorsed, unwittingly or not, the limitations society presumes we have. These are the internalized messages disqualifying ourselves from various ambitions or activities like running for office (which I’d like to do but don’t have the discipline to campaign or the inclination to attend meetings if, perchance, I got elected) or go back to school for another degree (which I started doing a few years ago, enrolling in an online university to get a Master’s in English and then I dropped out and chased some other shiny thing) or adopting a pet – a dog or cat – because, you know, you might die before the pet. And then what?

I guess what I’m getting at is this. We don’t have to relinquish anything until we have to. We don’t have to get a head start on relinquishment, check out from challenging things, withdraw from stuff that’s hard, decide to ‘know our place.‘ That doesn’t make us wise and strategic, it makes us small. Why voluntarily shrink?

That we adopted a 10-year-old sled dog that ran in the Iditarod this year could be considered foolhardy by a lot of people. And I admit, the idea of it gave me pause. I was on the edge of anticipatory relinquishment. I’m too old for another sled dog, I thought, especially this one, too much for me. Too big, too strong. He was described to us as ‘all muscle and fur.‘ Daunting.

The first time I walked him five days ago, I thought I’d lose my right arm. He’s used to pulling heavy loads up and down mountains and I couldn’t get him around the block without using both hands on the leash.

But then, just a bit ago, I walked the two of them – Durant and Tempest – by myself, and they lined up, side by side – two retired sled dogs – and it felt like this old girl could handle these strong dogs. I told them, ‘Alright, alright, good, good’ and they trotted along sweet as you please. I can do this, I thought, I can handle these dogs.

I guess what I’m saying is this. I was this close to saying no, sorry, I’m too old for another sled dog. But I decided to not relinquish the foolhardy voice in my head that said, ‘oh heck, why not?‘

And here we are, for better or worse.