Prime Time - Jane Fonda [106]
Just as the Third Act is the time for journeying inward to allow the flowering of consciousness and growth, it is also the time to radiate that consciousness outward as a resource not only for our own self-fulfillment but for the world, as well.
Think of the bright blooms that burst forth from invisible, underground rhizomes to catch the sun. This new spring growth carries the sunshine—transmuted to sugar, thanks to chlorophyll—back to nourish the root. In us humans, the process is also circular: The outward manifestation of our inner growth is what loops back and ensures that our inner self is nourished.
But it is the outer–what we do—that becomes our personal footprint, our ultimate identity. We are what we do.
Life can be taken away without death. We can let depression, self-pity, resentment, and grumpiness fossilize us so we’re not of much use to anyone. But why shortchange ourselves, now of all times? Is that what we want our legacy to be? Why not deliberately start to live so that the breakdown of the youthful self can lead to the breakthrough of an emerging elder self?3
The Jungian analyst Helen Luke wrote, “To our wonder, we may find that now it is time to become aware of our oneness with everything and everyone other. Instead of ‘I am not this, I am not that person or thing or image,’ we begin to affirm, ‘I am both this and that’ and to glimpse the meaning of ‘I am’ as the name of God.”
I took this picture of Dad holding baby Malcolm.
We can consciously cultivate these inner qualities in ourselves—trustworthiness, less ego, acceptance of differences. This is how we assume the role of sages, shamans, wise women who radiate a vision that beckons those who are younger more fearlessly into their own Third Acts. The very young may no longer need us to forage for food, an evolutionary imperative for grandmothers in hunter-gatherer times, but they need us to teach and inspire them. It is understandable for us, especially those of us at the far end of Act III, to feel a special affinity for children. Unlike those in midlife, the very young share with the old a proximity to what Joan Erikson called “the shadow of non-being,” the thin membrane that separates life and nonexistence, which is forgotten in the glare of midlife.
There’s a lofty word for this nurturing of the younger generations, or of individuals of any age: “Generativity.” It’s something the experts all agree is a central component of successful aging. The psychiatrist Erik Erikson coined the term to describe moving from a focus on oneself to a focus on a broader social radius, giving to the community and to the larger world. It involves the ability to care for and guide the next generation, to give of oneself to those coming up, by mentoring, coaching, guiding, nurturing them. The young have inherited certain traits genetically; we can pass on other traits to them through teaching and example.
With my son, Troy, in 2007.
KURT MARKUS
My granddaughter Viva, around four years old.
Me as the Easter bunny in 1976.
Me as the Easter bunny in 2011, with my granddaughter Viva (second from right).
Generativity also means being concerned with the future of the planet. You can think of it as revolutionary. If Generativity were more widely embedded in our social fabric, with all the caring and compassion for young people that it signifies, everything would be different.
For me, the word conjures up the notions of generation, generating, and creativity: Our generation must generate (with creativity) caring and nurturance for things and people other than ourselves. We must become advocates for the future.
There’s lots in it for us, too, including physiological benefits. It has been shown that endorphins that strengthen the immune system and increase our longevity are released when we are fully engaged in “broadening our social radius” by helping others, especially the younger generations—and this is what Generativity means.
Dr. George Vaillant, in his book Aging Well, based on the thirty-year-long Harvard Study of Adult Development, writes