“I do it myself!” It’s a frequently heard declaration from toddlers, much to the frustration of parents who don’t always have time for their kid to put shoes on by themself. The move toward independence is a critical developmental stage in childhood. But what does it mean when we are olders? Could giving up the need to go it alone—perhaps even before we have to (gasp!)—be a developmental stage for us?

Yes, I am capable of painting the doors leading off my family room myself. I did the walls to prepare a “pandemic classroom” for my two grandsons. Now it’s five years later, and I haven’t finished the task.

Every winter I dream of removing the laundry room’s beige-ness, the only room (with its many oil-base-paint cabinets—ugh) in my childhood home I haven’t painted in the seven years since my mother died. But I haven’t done it.

Yes, I can still climb the ladder to clean tree debris off the flat roof of the house, clearing downspouts and sweeping pooled water down them. As I’ve been doing for the past nine years. (Nothing to prove.)

I have a small chainsaw. I could make firewood of the small tree that fell last winter, that I dragged off the trail in May and left for later.

I’m pretty sure I could put new washers in the bathroom sink. But it drips on, undone.

Or . . .

I could hire the young handyman/yard maintenance guy who has been mowing my meadow—which I cannot do—and give him work over the winter months. Work that will help support his family, including two little girls at the “I do it myself” stage.

Really, what do I need to prove at the age of 73? I’ve done many things to establish to myself and anyone watching—which is no one—that I can do it myself. I am privileged to be able to afford to pay someone to do some of it (which I never thought would be the case). And I can let some things go all together. (The yard doesn’t look like it did when my father took care of it.) I have other things I want to do before it’s too late.

When my mother didn’t “do it herself,” because she no longer could, she said she was “lazy.” It made me sad that she only saw what she couldn’t do and not all that she had done. She hated being dependent on others. I think of it as interdependence: we all count on others for some aspect of our living our whole lives. I think I would like to turn some things over before I have to, while it’s a choice. Maybe I can avoid being as hard on myself as my mother was. (I may feel differently when I’m 98, but I can only live my current age.)

I ran across a recent interview with actress Mel Harris. Remember Thirtysomething, the TV show in the late ‘80s? I was thirty-something, and I loved the show. Mel, who played Hope Steadman, is 69 now. She said this, when asked about downsizing to a smaller home:

“I don’t call it downsizing, I call it resizing, actually.
I think downsizing has a negative connotation.”

Amen to that! We are so good at ageism on our own behalf. Is choosing to ask someone else to do tasks you can do yourself—maybe have been—a form of resizing? A developmental milestone? Unless, of course, you really love doing it yourself, in which case, I applaud you. There is certainly satisfaction in having done it yourself. Currently, I’m finding more satisfaction in it just being done.

I just returned from a ten-day road trip to Canada, visiting six national parks. I’m much more interested in continuing to do things like that by myself—things no one can do for me—as long as I’m able. (You can find my Canada adventure stories and photos here.)

As I settle into fall—my favorite season—I’m making a list for Jordan. Maybe I’ll make cookies for his little girls while he cleans the roof.

Happy autumn!

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*Jordan did clean the roof last week, which I could have done. (Blah, blah. Someday I’ll stop adding that qualifier. I haven’t reached full enlightenment yet.) He also cleaned the pitched roof and gutters over the carport/workshop, which has rarely been done—and never by me. (I’m not stupid.) I hadn’t asked him to, but he’s just that wonderful. He discovered a broken tree limb had punctured the roof and emerged through the ceiling of the workshop above the carport. He will remove the offender and patch the roof, preventing a disaster when the rains come.

🍁 🍂 🍁

Your turn! What do you love doing yourself? What would you like someone else to do? What are your thoughts about hanging on and letting go? Leave a comment!

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