Learning After 50

After I turned 50 years old – that age when supposedly I could no longer learn – I learned these three major things:

1. A new language: Romanian.

My spouse and I went to Romania for Peace Corps service, where we began with three months in language and culture training. I achieved Intermediate Level Fluency, which I am very proud of! This meant I could communicate with the average Romanian, read signs, and function successfully every day.

In our Peace Corps group, 10 of us were over 50. At least 5 of us achieved some level of fluency and stayed our entire service time of 2+ years. We often bragged about how much we were learning despite the prognosis that we couldn't. Brain science had not yet taken off. We could only use our own experiences to counter that deadly prediction.

2. How to plot a novel.

Yes, I am sorry to report that I, a novelist since I was 16, did not learn this most crucial skill until after I was 50. I blame myself. Like Calvin, of the comic strip "Calvin & Hobbs", I had terrific confidence in myself. Just as he surely could drive a car at age 6, I could publish a novel at any age without all that pesky growing up.

Finally, in despair about ever getting published, I considered what I could improve about my writing – if anything!

After careful reflection, I realized that I was awesome at dialogue, okay at character development and narrative, but really stunk at plot. Most of my stories were lovely conversations that went nowhere.

Since that troubling revelation, I have bought every book on plot that I can find and I studied them. And studied them. And studied them.

Now, hopefully, I am okay at plot.

3. How to survive depression.

Specifically, I was diagnosed with Situational Depression, prescribed Prozac, and saw a therapist weekly. So many stressful life events had piled up on top of me, that for about two years, I was unable to function beyond feeding myself. The following three years, I reduced my visits to the therapist (who is over 65!), eliminated my prescriptions, and began to participate in life beyond myself.

This was significant for me. The therapist said I had PTSD, but I didn't agree, still don't. Other people have been through far worse than what I endured, and they deserve that title and the treatment for it. Still, the therapist compared me to those people.

If this had happened to a 50-year-old woman in 1986, she might have received some sort of psychotropic drug, and maybe be institutionalized. Remember, as I stated in the last blog post, at that time, therapy was considered a waste of time for elderly people.

I am so lucky to have lived beyond 50, and to live today when brain science is helping all of us to live longer, healthier lives.

If you know a brain scientist or doctor, hug them (with permission). They are saving the lives of the silvering generation!