Editing As We Age

by Rebecca Crichton

Recently, I wrote about how French women, before venturing into the world, regard themselves in a full-length mirror, fully dressed and accessorized—and then remove one thing.

I admit I am flummoxed by what might get eliminated—obviously not one earring, but who’s to say? Perhaps the broach—evidently, people still wear these. Maybe the scarf—although the ability to casually fling a scarf perfectly is something European women seem to know inherently, unlike many of us in the New World.

The idea that grabs me most is about the subtraction-reduction of elements. Early in my career as a writer for Boeing, I learned that whatever I wrote would first be reviewed by a professional editor before being released. Initially, it felt daunting and uncomfortable, although I soon learned the value of a good editor and the always-improved product that resulted from working with one.

I heard a story from people in the publishing industry about a writer whose first book had been a sensation. He then refused to allow anyone to edit his words. He believed every word was perfect and that nobody else could improve his ‘pearls of wisdom.’ He was wrong. He never had another hit. That might have had to do with what he offered up, but the refusal to be edited could have played a part.

Editing is where any writing goes from rough to ready. I knew I was a real writer when I looked forward to the editing process to shape and polish what I had written.

I believe that the same concept of editing—pruning, subtracting, and reducing both tangible and intangible elements—applies to many aspects related to aging.

Ikebana, the Japanese Path of Flowers, is all about editing. We subtract, we clear, we reveal the ideal relationship between the elements. Usually, that means paying attention to three primary principles: line, space, and mass.

In a recent interview on Hidden Brain, a professor of engineering described an experiment in which he asked students to solve a problem. He discovered that most of them added features in the effort to solve it. Only a few subtracted what he had given them to find the ideal solution.

A classic approach to decluttering is to look at any particular object and decide whether it fits into one of three buckets: Keep, Discard, Give Away. (Recycling should be part of the discarding and giving away choices.)

As straightforward as this might sound, I suggest including another person in this process to check the vestigial desire to hang onto everything.

And it’s not just our ‘stuff’ that needs editing. What we think and how we act are also areas where subtracting might be worth practicing. Whether it’s our minds or our behaviors, this requires us to become aware and conscious of what we’re doing. Staying present, which is what any meditative practice encourages us to do, requires intention and repetition.

I think there is a natural inclination to keep adding as opposed to the discomfort of letting go. We might have to trick ourselves into saying, No! I don’t need that, I don’t want that, I don’t want to do that.

The Town Hall event that I did with Lynda Dowell reframed the concept of reducing what we have by thinking of what we’re letting go of as gifts for others. Sylvia Boorstein, a well-known meditation teacher, describes how she frames giving things away. Instead of thinking, “Oh, I’ll miss it.” She thinks, “Who will enjoy this next?”

I sometimes joke that I have given away more things than some people have ever owned. I often see those items, including clothes, furniture, and art, when I visit friends. I always experience a sense of connection and gratitude at the way I am linked by the things I have edited from my life, along with the enduring relationships they represent.

It’s a good feeling, and one I plan to seek more of as I navigate my world.