What Harold Fry taught me about growing older

 It’s interesting to me how many contemporary novels and movies feature old people as protagonists. Within the last year I’ve read Noah’s Compass (Anne Tyler), How to Age Disgracefully (Grace Pooley), and Miss Benson’s Beetle (Rachel Joyce), among others. Even more movies, including romances, focus on the elderly. Almost always, the lead characters are portrayed as quirky but people of value and wisdom—however disguised (think of A Man Called Ove/Otto, Fredick Backman).

I’ve just been spending time with Harold Fry and I think his adventures are rubbing off on me. The Unlikely Pilgrimage of Harold Fry (2012), another novel by Rachel Joyce, features an older man who takes off on an adventure that is entirely out of keeping with his personality and previous experience. Harold is newly retired from a job that had grown so unsatisfactory that he left with no one even noticing. Now at home with his nagging wife, he hardly knows what to do with himself. Sound familiar? At one point in the story, he looks back over his life:

He had made a mess of being a husband, father, and friend. He had even made a mess of being a son. It wasn’t simply that he had betrayed Queenie, and that his parents did not want him. It wasn’t simply that he had made a mess of everything with his wife and son. It was rather that he had passed through his life and left no impression. He meant nothing.

Early in the story Harold receives a letter from an old friend he hasn’t heard from in years. Queenie writes to tell him that she is dying of cancer and just wants to say goodbye. That’s all. It’s a short letter, really just a note. It touches Harold and he tries to write a reply saying he’s sorry, but he struggles with the writing. He walks down to the mailbox to post the few sentences he finally came up with, but he can’t drop it in the box. So he walks to a mailbox down the street. And on the to next, etc., etc. Harold Fry never turns around to go back home. Somewhere along the way he gets the strong impression that he needs to walk to Queenie’s nursing home and give her the message in person. He’s convinced that as long as he keeps walking, Queenie won’t die. Harold lives on the southern coast of England; Queenie’s hospice home is some 700 miles away in the north of the country.

Harold would have been the first to admit that there were elements to his plan that were not finely tuned. He had no walking boots or compass, let alone a map or change of clothes. The least planned part of the journey, however, was the journey itself. He hadn’t known he was going to walk until he started.

The book is the story of his pilgrimage, the challenges he faces, the people he meets along the way, and what happens at the end. Without going into the details of the plot (read the book for yourself), I want to reflect on what I learned from this story, things Harold told me about older people without intending to, which is just like him.

--An ordinary person, even an older one, can take on an extraordinary task, even without the assurance of success. That speaks to my condition, as the Quakers say. I’ve taken on a project of writing poetry through every book of the Bible, a task that will probably take the rest of my life. It seems huge.

--It’s hard and success is not assured. Harold’s story ends strangely (but I’m not telling how). Mine may, too. Not all my poems will be good, in fact maybe most of them won’t. No matter. It’s definitely little by little, advancing everyday. If Harold kept on, so can I.

--Our bodies get in the way. Of course. Harold isn’t prepared for the blisters, the muscle aches, and the fatigue as he starts out. It gets better as he progresses, but he stays old to the very end. Sometimes fatigue and various aches and pains make me less than productive and I’m tempted to give up and just be retired—read novels, take naps, etc., etc. The challenges are real.

--Remembering is one of the tasks of old age. Somehow the walking helps Harold bring up the difficult things of the past and slowly begin to understand and face them. In a way, he’s coming to know himself. An important task for all of us.

--Harold accumulates some stuff along the way, stuff he considers necessary for survival. But at one point he realizes he’s carrying too much. So he gets rid of most of it and decides to let the needs of each day be met however that may be. He feels free again and picks up his pace. Yes to that. An ongoing process, but worth the trouble.

--This whole adventure is counter to the introverted mousey person he had been all his life. Yet the people he meets along the way begin to change him. He slowly comes out of isolation and finds community. It surprises and changes him. I need to remember that, especially as I enter different levels of care in the future. I see the temptation to isolation as fairly common. Being in life-giving community sometimes requires an effort.

--As Harold interacts with a variety of people, mainly by listening to their stories, he discovers that there are no boring ordinary people. What people carry inside—their past, their pain, their secret joys—makes each one a mysterious package to be opened. “Harold thought of the people he had already met and passed. Their stories had surprised and moved him, and none had left him untouched. Already the world had more people in it for whom he cared.” Remember that, Nancy. Here in this retirement community, there are no ordinary people; listen to the stories.

Here is one of my favorite passages:

… Harold walked with these strangers and listened. He judged no one, although as the days wore on, he couldn’t remember if the tax inspector wore no shoes or had a parrot on his shoulder. It no longer mattered. He had learned that it was the smallness of people that filled him with wonder and tenderness, and the loneliness of that too. The world was made up of people putting one foot in front of the other; and a life might appear ordinary simply because the person living it had been doing so for a long time. Harold could no longer pass a stranger without acknowledging the truth that everyone was the same, and also unique; and that this was the dilemma of being human.

He walked so surely it was as if all his life he had been waiting to get up from his chair.

--Harold finds that learning and discovering have no age limits. Once he stops looking down and feeling the pain of walking, he begins to look around. He discovers the beauties of the English countryside. “Once more, it surprised him how much was at his feet, if only he had known to look.” No matter our age, the world still invites us to explore and learn.

--Gradually, and without realizing it, Harold becomes new, while still being true to the essential person he is. Transformation happens. And not only of himself, but of his relationships. Back home, Maurine, Harold’s wife, had been going through her own time of reflection and change (but I won’t elaborate on how that turns out). We’re never too old to experience change and renewal.

The Unlikely Pilgrimage of Harold Fry does not aim to teach lessons or help us with self-improvement as we grow older. It tells a story, and does it well. But the characters are genuine, and so we implicitly learn as we enter into the lives of these ordinary unique people.

Sometimes the adventures we go on are through the pages of a good book.

    Now I think I’ll go out and take a walk.