Choosing the sun

by Rosey Puloka

I don’t know that I want to live a long life. I want to live a life that’s full and worn and wild and free just like all the best songs say it should be…but long? 

Unsure. 

In Claudia’s class about herbs in the cycle of life, we met the usual suspects: ginger for warmth, sage for the mind, rosemary for the brain. It was equal parts didactic and participatory. In between broad categories of nootropics and carminatives were smaller, sweeter, anecdotal stories about older adults and elders and our relationships to them. There was a softness to the conversation that made sense given both Claudia and the kinds of people who generally go into herbal medicine. In a country that is pathologically obsessed with youth and reversing the signs of aging, it’s always a comforting relief to visit these more honest and compassionate spaces. Here, wrinkles from the sun are usually more revered. Hair turning white is a sign of witchiness rather than catastrophe and negligence. And death at least as a concept is more accepted as an inevitable part of life. 

So why in this honest, compassionate, and forgiving space that welcomed and celebrated aging was I thinking about death before dying? Was I having a crisis of imagination? Claudia was in a sense asking us to imagine a world where aging is less painful. Turmeric and devil’s claw for joint pain, red clover and horsetail for brittle bones, cinnamon and boswellia for arthritis. It’s not that I don’t believe it. I came in a believer. I don’t know if it’s because of Lyme, candida, genes, or physically demanding hobbies, but my knees hurt quite a bit. And have for a while. And for that, plants help. They also help with my softer bits — my gut, my heart, my mood. They work with me chemically and spiritually. There’s no denying their strength and efficacy and there’s no withholding of my gratitude for them. Plants will help me live better and longer. Period. Thank you. 

But centenarians? Yikes. Don’t get me wrong, huge amounts of respect and awe well up when I imagine being in the presence of one, but being one myself is…oof. To be totally fair, in this little soul search about aging, we’re not exactly thriving in this sociopolitical moment and the only catastrophe that’s happening is with the climate. The future went from being female to f***** and frantic and though I know there are inspiring acts happening everywhere, everyday, I can’t help but wince at how warm it is in October. The sweetest trees north of the Appalachian trail can’t give us that sugar if we can’t keep our cool. Woof. 

As a psychotherapist, you’d think I’d be more publicly optimistic if for nothing else then for my own publicity. Can you imagine the Psychology Today profile? “Feel free to reach out for a free 15-minute consultation to discuss your future with a hopeless therapist who would rather die than reach 100.” 

So is it all grief then? Do I not want to live a long life because of how much I’ll lose along the way? Maybe. And maybe longevity just isn’t my priority. To be clear, I want to leave this life absolutely tattered. When you look at my skin I want you to know I chose the sun. When you hear my voice you’ll know my soulmate is tobacco and whatever it is, I’ll probably have one more before the night is done. With all due respect to herbalist and longest lived person, Li Ching Yuen, I have a very different ethos. Yuen said, “Keep a quiet heart, sit like a tortoise. Walk sprightly like a pigeon, sleep like a dog.” I have no doubt the vibes around Yuen must have been immaculate. For me, I can confidently say there’s nothing quiet about my heart or spry about my walk. You’ll hear me coming. On this side and the other.

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Rosey is a therapist and farmer living in the southern Catskills. Find her at roseypuloka.com.