How Old Are You, Really?

Old Age

These two words, old age, carry a lot of weight of meaning, assumptions, and sometimes a lot of fear. When people ask us how old we are, we usually won't say, "Why are you making me old?” In most societies, birthdays are cherished milestones, celebrated with candles, cake, and a sense of joy. From childhood to old age, certain expectations, privileges, and restrictions are attached to these numbers we wear like badges. For children, age is often a symbol of opportunity. Each passing year unlocks something new—being old enough to ride a bike, to stay up late, or to experience the excitement of becoming a teenager. Children eagerly await certain ages, yearning to cross the thresholds that grant them freedom or responsibility. But as we grow older, our perception of age often shifts. Age becomes less about anticipation and more about limitation. What is old age, really? Is it the wrinkling of the skin, the slowing of the steps, the forgetting of names and faces? Is it decline or loss?

The Sight of the Old Man

The Buddha's teachings and stories often touch on old age, pointing to impermanence, suffering, and conditioned existence. One of the most moving moments that led Siddhartha Gautama to seek enlightenment was his encounter with old age. In the story of the four sights, Siddhartha lived a sheltered life as a prince, protected from the realities of human existence. But on a rare journey outside the palace walls, he encountered four sights that changed his perspective: an old man, a sick person, a corpse, and an ascetic. The sight of the old man made a deep impression on Siddhartha. He realized that aging is an inevitable part of life—no one can escape it. This realization led him to question the nature of life and set him on his spiritual journey.

Meeting Old Age Within

For most of us, encountering old age, inside or out, doesn't lead us to a spiritual journey. On the contrary, when we notice the body changing, we may create and cling to an idea, a story about ourselves being old, or still not as old. We notice that the senses don't work as they used to, that movement slows down, that pain appears. Sometimes it may seem that the body itself is falling apart. There may be a desire to remain useful, not to be dependent on others. Our cognitive abilities also change—memories flicker, here one moment, gone the next. Words sometimes escape us, leaving silence. Do we notice a tendency to cover it up, to push it aside, to pretend it isn't happening? We may struggle to function as we once did in our families, communities, and society at large. Resistance to these changes comes quickly and may even turn into bitterness—a fear of losing “our” place, of being seen as a burden. A feeling of being unworthy—a special waste and so on. And, of course, this will affect our relationships, changing the way we relate to those around us.

How Old Do We Truly Feel?

Around birthdays, anniversaries, or other significant events, people often ask how old we truly feel. How old is this thing, this body, that is sitting here, breathing the air, feeling the chair underneath? When we are watching a good movie, time can fly like an instant, and when we are in the hospital, even a minute can feel like a day. If you are reading these words right now, someone might take the time to tell you that it took you three seconds to read this sentence. We can measure time with a watch but your actual reading experience has nothing to do with the number three or the word seconds. So what is it really?

Is Old Age Another Glue to the Label of the Self?

We are so used to squeezing life into a number of years, a label, an age, or a time. Beneath the surface of these labels, there is something much bigger to be seen—something timeless, something beyond age altogether. Something without separation between the aging body and whatever feels it right now. Can that be revealed in this moment as you read these words? Our stories about ourselves appear so quickly in one form or another. As a Buddhist, as a Zen practitioner, as a parent, as a businessperson, as a young agile adult, or as a homeless old man or woman. Can we shed light on this? It seems that we are constantly trying to boost our self stories over and over again, but we don’t want to look at them. We sweep them under the carpet of thinking and opinions and ideas. Or we numb our senses with the ten thousand favorite distractions. Can we spot even a hairbreadth of that self story when it shows itself? Or is that nit-picky? When the nits of the self are truly seen and seen through without evaluation or condemnation, then they may disappear by themselves. Then, what are we without our self story? Can we jump into don't-know and just be with whatever is left then?

Where Is the Place of Old and Young?

In many societies, older people are viewed with respect and have their respected place in these communities. In business, younger people are often preferred over older people, perhaps primarily for economic reasons. In religious communities, elders are often seen as having more wisdom than younger people. Is there something valuable about being an elder in a community, or is it just a practical matter of protection and power? When an older person speaks and their experience echoes, there is a different weight that resonates. There is an important place for that.

Is there a time to step back and let others take over? In many families there is an issue of getting elders to give up driving or living alone. Are we stubbornly holding on to our skills and overestimating our own abilities? We may even have a vision of our own ending. Perhaps a fantasy of being in possession of all our bodily functions until we fall over and die. Can this be seen? And how much space should the younger generation give to the older generation? What is the responsibility of the young to the old and the old to the young? It is a living kong-an, where one part of the seal is not enough. Only when both parts, the young and the old, fit together is it complete. I remember a young student always checking on Zen Master Dae Kwang and reminding him to take his medicine. And on another occasion, a student said to Zen Master Dae Kwang, "I really messed up the ceremony," and without missing a beat, the Zen master replied, "I'm sorry, I didn't teach you well.”

How Do We Deal with People Who Get Old?

Are we stressed or afraid when we meet older people? Going to a retirement home can feel like a draining of energy. Listening to the stories of old people can feel like a record that keeps repeating itself—the same stories over and over again. Do we want old people out of our lives by abandoning them in hospitals, nursing homes or shoving them off to other relatives? Can we meet a person directly without an age, an idea in between, without the wrapping, but as they really are? To listen to them, no matter how many times we have heard a certain story. To perceive the whole atmosphere, as it were for the first time. There's a certain freshness here—not one tied to any kind of memory, but one born of the raw and unrefined aliveness: the dance of sunlight on a face, the tone of a voice, the way the hands are moving or resting, the warmth of a quiet moment shared.

Can we approach getting old—in ourselves and in others—with curiosity, tenderness, and a willingness to let it reveal itself? Let's remain present and curious to whatever it brings—the pain, the fear, and the lack of control. Getting old and meeting old—are they the same or different? Here is an old story that brings it to a clear point:

The scholar Zhang asked the master Yangzhou, “How do I endure old age?”
“How old are you?” asked the master.
“Eighty,” answered the scholar.
“That’s pretty old,” said the master.
“So how do I endure it?” asked the scholar.
Yangzhou said, “For the first thousand years you’re not even alive.”

Sometimes we all come in touch with leaving, declining, or losing energy. Sometimes we encounter gaining, increasing, or enhancing energy. Can we not attach to either one? Not be separate from whatever appears. Without resistance and division. What is there to be endured? Please listen carefully, right now. What is there?