On the surface, I lead an active, intellectually stimulating life that is still on the upswing, toward further achievement and discovery. But my internal thoughts and feelings turn more and more to the past; at fifty-six there's a lot of past to contemplate.

In my younger years I swore that I'd never become like the elders around me. I would never sit inside on a sunny day, never watch TV in the daytime, never be ignorant of new cultural trends, never take medications based merely on Western medicine's dictates. Whenever I worried about "letting myself go," I soothed myself with the argument that, since I was so different at twenty, thirty, and even forty than the way my older relatives were at each of those ages, it was unlikely I'd be like them at fifty or sixty.

But aging turns out to be the universal equalizer; it's a humbling experience. At thirty I viewed older people through a scrim of self-righteous assumptions. Now, when I told my mother, aunt and uncle--all over seventy-five--that I was beginning to feel closer in temperament to them than to my thirtysomething children, they laughed and said "But you're so young!"

Should I live so long, I will doubtless say the same to any fiftysomething upstart who dares to presume she understands me. But the fact that I can foresee this inevitability only proves my point.

And it turns out the joke's on me: whereas I used to feel sorry for my elderly relatives, I now envy them. They were of a generation that was allowed to grow old: they were not expected to remain young-looking, to jog around the block daily, to forego high-cholesterol foods, to maintain a frenetic level of activity. They were permitted, if not encouraged, to gradually relax into their twilight years--which began as early as forty--and make way for the next generation in the public sphere.

Once, while visiting my daughter in Los Angeles, I was walking along the beach amid the beautiful young bodies; there's no place quite like LA to make you feel old and fat. I don't know why, but a wonderful self-acceptance descended on me: I thought, I am a fat old Jewish grandmother visiting my daughter. I felt suddenly connected to all the mothers, aunts and grandmas who used to sit on the beach in Rockaway when I was a kid, fat dangling shamelessly from their upper arms as they waved at us kids to come out of the water for lunch. How old were these women? Probably in their forties, maybe fifties. No one thought them defective or lazy because they'd gone to fat and weren't afraid to show it in a bathing suit, or judged them for not jogging along the coast instead of sitting under an umbrella supervising the family.

Not so now. Super-elder is the hero of today: the sixty- year -olds who climb mountains, swim marathons, even party with the ravers. Accolades appear on the nightly news and in every bookstore about men and especially women who're still going strong at seventy. Paradoxically, the work world still discriminates against anyone over thirty, and competing against Gen-Xers has become a futile pursuit. Television writers report being denied work; some have taken to deleting impressive credits from their resumes because, for instance,"M.A.S.H." is a red flag of obsolescence. Some Catch-22: we're supposed to stay young, but we're discriminated against for growing old.

The pressure to remain artificially young is so intense that those who can afford it go for plastic surgery; others take supplements touted as anti-aging miracles, eat only fish and vegetables (or whatever the diet of the day dictates) and wear themselves out at the gym. In a ridiculous fit of rebellion, I resumed smoking when I turned fifty, and abandoned all efforts to "stay in shape." I don't exercise, I eat whatever I like, and I occasionally ingest substances not known for their health-enhancing qualities. Though there are several men I could be seeing regularly, and numerous avenues for meeting more, I'm too lazy to shave my legs for a liaison--I opt to stay home in the evenings and read or watch Lifetime Television for Women.

Were I living in another time, my behavior would seem utterly normal. As it is, while engrossed in a delicious novel my thoughts suddenly click to some hissing internal voice: You're getting old and fat, you never leave the house, put down that book, and go out!

You know that prose poem that's replicated on posters everywhere, "When I Am Old I Shall Wear Purple?" Well, I've worn plenty of purple in my life. More and more now, I find myself selecting black. I'm not so dense that I don't get the author's metaphorical meaning: it's just that for me, the metaphor of wearing purple means to give up the fight.. I'm in the process of giving up anything and everything that I find even mildly unpleasant. I'm not going anywhere I don't want to go. Not to parties or readings or other rituals meant to honor and celebrate someone somewhere sometime.

I'm not going outdoors except to the ocean. Other places—the woods, mountains and such—run rampant with bees, and I have been stung over a dozen times in my life. I despise being outside in woodsy nature. For fifteen years of my life I lived in the mountains; all my books and records turned damp and moldy, and the air sometimes felt downright swimmable. If I never see another tree I'll die happy.

I'm through with people with whom I cannot be totally myself —but that's a vow I took several years ago. If someone insults, offends or bores me, I simply push the DELETE button on their emails. In fact, I and several friends now say DE-lete! when referring to someone we dislike.

I'm not going on any more long trips. I'm not forcing myself to go for long healthy walks. After collapsing in yoga class a few weeks ago, I said goodbye to a lifelong ambition to stand on my head. I am facing the fact that I will never go surfing, learn to scuba dive, or drive a motorcycle by myself.

I began writing this piece a couple of years ago, and then let it languish in my files. Then, six months ago, I was diagnosed with COPD--Chronic Obstructionary Pulmonary Disease. I have not yet absorbed the meaning of this illness and its affects on my life yet. So…watch this space for a Part 2 on this topic. Things could get even nastier.