I’M ONE OF THOSE PEOPLE who don’t like parties. I am bored with small talk and uninterested in fashion, who’s ghosting whom, who has his eyes set on that girl with the piled-up hair. My MO at such affairs is to hunt down the room with books — someone’s study or the library in a fancier setup — and settle down to read.
The party noises form a pleasant backdrop, and if there’s quiet music, all the better. Occasionally someone peeks in. I can tell from their body language that they’re worried about me — surely this person sitting by herself is desperately lonely.
Not. Enjoying myself. Go away.
But this antisocial behavior took place before I crossed a line I never knew existed. Now it’s no longer necessary.
Enter the land of too old to be interesting, and eyes pass over you without registering. Say something to someone and they turn away, searching for real meat.
I’ve been rendered invisible by my age.
We older ones search each other out and talk midterm elections or the pleasures and plagues of sitting on nonprofit boards. We chat about the deer decimating the front yard, what privacy laws are being violated by Flock cameras or your cat’s kidney issues. (Tip: pet ailments, perfectly kosher; your own, shut up, we all have the same aches and pains.)
When the social freeze-out first happened to me, I was dismayed. I was at a work affair at a trendy tapas bar in Berkeley when those eyes began traveling past and over me. My plus-one was equally startled. “No one talked to us,” she complained. “We’re just too old!”
But as George and Marion Kerby demonstrated in “Topper,” there are real advantages to being invisible. You can laugh at everyone else without anyone noticing. You can have real conversations, and no one cares or tries to interrupt and one-up you.
Above all, you don’t need to perform, which means you can be yourself in all your well-earned glory.
I no longer have to retreat to the library. I can be front and center and have fun doing it. A world of laughter and good conversation awaits. All you have to do is pile on the decades.
What does a longer lifespan mean to you? Talented local columnists tag-team every Friday to tackle the challenges that inform your choices — whether you’re pushing 17 or 70. Recent Stanford Center on Longevity Visiting Scholar Susan Nash looks at life experiences through an acerbic personal lens, while other longtime writers take the macro view to examine how society will change as the aging population grows ever larger. Check in every Friday to expand your vision of living the long game and send us your feedback, column suggestions and ideas for future coverage to newsroom@baycitynews.com.