Archives for August 2021

But how will we be able to tell which generation to blame? That was my first thought when I saw that a group of demographers and social scientists was asking the Pew Research Center to stop promoting the use of generation labels (e.g.Silent Generation, baby boomers, Generation X, millennials, etc.).

It’s been all too easy to blame baby boomers for a whole host of societal ills, but if you stop to think about it, that means you’re blaming your 75 year-old brother along with a 63 year-old sister. You would expect twelve years age difference would have significant impact in their respective outlooks and behavior.

This name game supposedly started with the “Lost Generation” appellation in the late 19^th century. But then it mushroomed into the Greatest Generation, the Beat Generation, Boomers, Gen X, Gen Z, Snowflake Generation, etc. The labels seem like fun, but when journalists and marketing firms start making generalizations about your generation, the party the fun is not so much.

Demographers say the classifications are not real, and you would have to acknowledge that at this moment in time there is one hell of a lot of disparity in what baby boomers are thinking and how they are behaving. Just take the last election or the current political party divide as one example of how useless it is to try to categorize baby boomers.

Maybe one day we can drop all the labels and just try to get along.

Nah! It will never happen. Everyone from journalists to armchair philosophers thinks they have a God given right to pigeonhole one generation after another, so good luck with ending that practice. Guess it’s up to us as individuals to try and stop labeling each other and just try to listen to each other.

Nah! That’s not going to happen either. You can just continue on with your stereotypes, and I’ll go on with mine.

Jay Harrison is a writer and creative consultant for DesignConcept. His mystery novel, Head Above Water, is available on Amazon and Kindle. You can also visit his author page here.

I woke up the other morning thinking, “I should get a job.” I used to like people. Maybe I could learn to like them again.

Yes! I could quit using cannabis, pass a drug test and get back in the workstream. I’ve read there’s a shortage of employees. Except I haven’t read anything about trying to lure back the 50 and 60-somethings they drove out in favor of snappy young talent. So, there’s that.

Oh, and then dealing with all those problematic young people. They are in charge now, and I liked it better the other way around.

I suppose I’d be the new troublemaker, asking for all sorts of special accommodations. You know I can’t sit in a regular chair for hours on end. And such ridiculous expectations. Forty hours a week, seriously? I could maybe squeeze in some Spider Solitaire, but when would I have time to swim, cook, walk, play golf, take naps, stretch or work on my art?

Clearly, a desk job is out of the question. Not good for my health.

Then I thought, I could be a budtender! I could get some training online and apply for a job at a dispensary. I imagined myself, silver hair flowing, adorned in turquoise jewelry, imparting sage cannabis wisdom.

Except being a budtender is a fancy name for working retail. Horrible hours and crummy pay. Sometimes they want you to work at night! What about dinner????? Not to mention whiny customers, and that’s kind of a deal-breaker for me. Any filters I may have had in the past are gone. It’s like retirement truth serum. Now I just say what I think, and I assure you, it won’t be good for sales.

The truth is, I love retirement. Time and freedom is a hard-earned gift, and I have no interest in going backward. My guess is the job idea is more about the ongoing isolation of COVID. Maybe a subconscious yearning for pre-pandemic life?

Except it will be post-pandemic life. Something new, different, maybe better in some ways. I mean, why not? An uncertain future, for sure, but with any luck we’ll still be here to explore it.

I’m ready.

Donna Pekar is an aging badass (for real) who lives in California and writes Retirement Confidential.

According to my latest AARP Bulletin, noise is a (not very) silent killer. Several studies, as reported in Psychology Today, have indicated that chronic exposure to even the level of sound in nearby conversations and local traffic can boost stress hormones, blood pressure, and heart rates – all potentially lethal effects.

My partner Randy and I hadn’t read the AARP Magazine article or seen the study results when we decided to make the hour drive up to Hot Springs, NC from our home in Hendersonville. We were just looking for a brief getaway to celebrate 10 years since our first date. Hot Springs is a small town (population 560) at the edge of the Appalachian Mountains, famous for its healing mineral springs and the fact that the Appalachian Trail passes through the downtown, which also includes a brewery (of course), a few restaurants and art/craft galleries, and an old hardware store. So you don’t come for the downtown. You come for the activities, like rafting on the French Broad River, or hiking and biking on nearby trails. Or you can forgo the outdoor activities, as we did, and rent a cabin in the woods that includes a private outdoor hot tub filled with the famous warm mineral water.

Our cabin was on a farm, surrounded by other farms and framed by mountains. It was the most secluded of the three cabins on the property, nestled among tall trees, shielded from the gravel road leading to the other two cabins. The first thing we noticed after we parked and unloaded our car was the incredible, unusual quiet. Relaxing in the hot tub, soaking in the warm mineral water, we watched clouds pass overhead and the tops of trees moving in the breeze. Sitting on the screened porch, we heard only the soft sound of the woods. Sipping wine, we watched the day move slowly into night, saw the fireflies come out, and listened to the changing bird and animal sounds around us. That night, we realized we couldn’t find the lock on the sliding door that led out to the porch from the living room. Our peacefulness morphed into edginess as our isolation took another meaning. Are we too alone? We left the light on and closed the door to the bedroom. The next morning we reemerged into another day of quiet, and the woods, we decided, were our best medicine after all.

Lee Stevens enjoys writing, weaving, and Quiet time in Hendersonville, NC