Review: How to Be Old + Home Is a Moving Thing by Khaya Ronkainen

How often do you consider how you want to live as an old person? For sure (amid working on my soon-to-be-published book that you can read about here) I don’t, not enough.

Here’s my Amazon and Goodreads review of a book that encourages us to do exactly that…

“How to be Old” by Lyn Slater is a journey, not a “to do” list…

Other than sometimes sorting (and often ignoring) old age in terms of finances, I’ve only fleetingly contemplated exactly how I’d like to age. After listening to long-time social worker turned late-in-life social media influencer turned author Lyn Slater perform her audiobook (which she does marvelously!), she’s convinced me I’ve got everything to gain by doing so.

This is not a DIY check-list of ways to dress, apply cosmetics, or health-oriented whatnots. It’s a memoir that goes into her life wisdom.

While still working in social work, the fashion-oriented classes she takes in her free time lead her to Instagram. In short order, she’s a hit, an icon for fashionable aging. Soon she’s courted by fashion big cheeses who pay her wads of cash and fly her all over the world. Eventually, however, her health and ideals become time-frazzled and sidetracked. The rocketing success described in the book’s first half leads to introspection.

Big business is eager to fix us with magical answers. In the end, Slater reminds herself and her readers that life challenges us. Only the lucky grow old. We’re never too old to respect our individuality, the realities of life, and of our bodies. Now is always the perfect time to seek delight.

Today’s guest blog post is by blogger/poet/writer Khaya Ronkainen, a South African poet and writer based in Finland. Her poetry collection, The Sheltering (2022), explores personal and collective grief in a time of crisis.

Her newsletter, Project Finding Beauty, encourages readers to appreciate everyday beauty. Here she shares her poetic wisdom on friendship and the meaning of home…

Home Is a Moving Thing by Khaya Ronkainen

I was told to write about my preoccupation. For once, I don’t want to resist, edit my emotions, or ruminate endlessly about the state of the world. ‘Cause there’s untamed freedom outside, defying constraints of a poetic form. 

It’s not the starlings with their soft, murmuring calls that fill this April morning. A chorus of urgent needs and affections swells around me. Birds soar, hover, and glide in an aerial ballet. I’m awestruck by the power of the collective. Yet each bird is an independent flier guided by stars and winds across oceans. The air itself vibrates with energy. Each wingbeat pulls me into a peaceful vortex, a calm amidst chaos.

The river is not enough. I see softness. I see hardness. Male goldeneyes display a fascinating duality: gentle with partners, yet fiercely competitive with rivals. To mock me, the winning couple flaunts their victory. It’s impossible to photograph. I stow the camera and choose delight. At twilight, a curlew lands before me to feed. The soft ground teems with worms. I, too, am soft, as I return to myself. ‘Cause birds are not trying to be anything else; they just are.

Migration is not easy, yet birds take flight anyway. These global trotters carry home within. Their offspring will grow and live in countries other than where they were born. I love where I’m from. I love where I am. The beauty of a shifting social landscape lies in nurturing genuine connections with people who truly see us. ‘Cause belonging can be fluid, internal, and ever-changing.

I was told to write about my preoccupation. Today, it’s the flock factor at its peak, drowning out man-made noise that reminds me about the richness of life.