By Karma Tenzing Wangchuck
Dying in pain, advised me, “Don’t get old.”
These many years later,
I’ve disobeyed him in this also.
At 67 I’m the oldest member of our theatre troupe this season.
In the twelve years that the Poetic Justice Theatre Ensemble has existed, there have been much older actor-activists, some in their 80s and at least one who used a wheelchair. But this is the first time I remember being 67, and I’ve found it an interesting trip; so I thought some folks might enjoy my rumination on aging inside a Theatre of the Oppressed/Playback group.
In our kind of theatre, we aim to be as inclusive as possible; and also, the improvisational nature of much of our work means that elders might find themselves playing a baby, or a young person, someone very old. Still, in many or most of our forum plays, we tend to be cast roughly within our age groups. That works well for us currently because we have troupe members in their teens, 20s, 30s, 40s, 50s, and, yes, 60s. This truly rocks.
Our county is the oldest in Washington state and ranks 14th-oldest in the nation: the median age here is 55, compared to a state average of about 38. Thirty percent are 65 and older (only 14 percent are 18 and under). So it’s good to have some older folks in the troupe, to better represent the local demographic and to mirror some of our many concerns. I’m glad to play that role.
One of my joys this season is that we have three 16-year-olds in the ensemble. I find that working and playing with young men and women helps keep me in touch with what’s still green in me. I also hope that the presence of an older person can loosen up whatever fixed ideas about older people might inhabit younger folks’ minds. And maybe if I’m able to, I can also model through my work a kind of graceful aging.
I’m also learning (and reinforcing what I already know) that I have huge gaps in my knowledge and understanding, and that younger folks possess wisdom that when I was their age I very much lacked. Deep listening with ears and heart helps not only acting, but the soul. This is humbling in a good way, and often a joyful realization.
They say you’re as young as you feel. Well, physically I think I feel 67. I have issues from head to toe: fading eyesight, tooth-loss, a hernia, arthritic knees, and varicose veins in my calves, to name a few. Even so, I wouldn’t trade myself in for a younger me. Knock on wood, but my heart does feel young, and my mind seems more fluid, more creative, than ever.
These recent years have also been among my most productive—in my main vocation as a poet, and as an actor-activist in T.O. and Playback theatre. Everyone experiences suffering. At my best, I accept mine as part of my learning process and as something to transmute into art. So, Old Age: Bring It!
Sometimes acting with young people can be a challenge, though. Last year, because of a casting problem for a forum play, I ended up in the role of a husband to an actress almost 40 years younger. I tend to look younger than my age, but c’mon. . . . I didn’t want to give audiences an immediate way to disconnect, so I decided to turn my salt-and-pepper crew-cut, mustache and goatee brown in order to cut down the age-difference a bit. I think it worked, but there was one moment in the play when the “wife” erupted from her chair and moved swiftly across the stage. I was supposed to follow her. That was a horse race I definitely lost.
One of our ensemble mantras is “Take care of yourself.” I try to keep this in mind when we do warm-ups and theatrical exercises that seem like they might be beyond my ability or safety-zone. This takes common sense, also humility. Sometimes I have neither. I’m good at pratfalls, but I still cracked a rib last year being a bit too rambunctious one afternoon. And I rarely sit on the floor when we’re circled up for discussion; I wisely pull up a chair. In addition, if we’re about to do an exercise that means catching thrown objects or mirroring someone’s expression from a distance, I let my fellow troupies know that they need to make big gestures or take it a little easy on the geezer.
“Step Up, Step Back” is another mantra of our ensemble. This has several applications but in my case sometimes means trying to make sure that in group conversation and rehearsals, I don’t take up more than my share of space. Older people, it seems to me, sometimes tend to try to dominate younger people; this is especially troublesome if it silences the more youthful voices. So I do a lot of stepping back. On the other hand, sometimes other members of the ensemble want to take a break from acting in rehearsal, and I’ve found myself stepping up even when I’ve felt pretty worn out. It’s a worthy sacrifice unless I’m risking injury.
Learning to accept aging is a challenge for me, partly because I’ve been an athlete most of my life (in youth a long-distance runner, later a martial artist). I also love to dance, but if I do that for too long I’ll pay for it later, sometimes for a week or two of knee-joint pain. Part of growing old for me is to enjoy other people enjoying themselves, and I feel a special joy witnessing the play of young children (and young actors in our troupe).
A troupe such as ours really needs older actor-activists, not only to portray elders in performance, but to show our audiences and spect-actors that we respect and represent diversity. That’s part of our mission. So I’m glad, in fact grateful, to contribute to our ability to walk the talk.
Karma Tenzing Wangchuk is a longtime antiwar activist and poet. His latest chapbook is Open Door : Love Poems, selected and with a foreword by fellow ensemble member Danielle Bowen. Tenzing lives in Port Townsend, where he works at the food bank.