The Best Time

All of my life on every birthday I’ve been excited about turning another year older. Of course, we expect this with children -- who mark each year as a badge of their budding personhood. Turning 5 is a big deal -- you get to start school. Then 10 -- because you’re almost not a kid anymore. At 13 you’re now a teenager. Hit 16 and wow, you can drive! And of course, 21 is the entry into full adulthood.

But after that landmark, many people begin to deny their age. As the “big 3-0” looms, some decide to be 29 forever. Turning 40 is celebrated with black balloons and black humor. You’re over the hill. As the decades build, fewer and fewer people seem to find cause to celebrate.

Not me.

When I turned 50 I had a “Fabulous Fifties” party complete with hula hoops and poodle skirts, and on my last birthday my husband and I hosted my daughters and one son-in-law to a “Sensational Sixty” weekend commemorating this important turning point in my life.

I’ve never lied about my age. Why would I? When I hear people bemoaning getting older, I wonder why. I’m happy I made it so successfully to 60. I didn’t die young. I raised a family. I developed a career. I had many successes -- and a few failures -- along the way. I’ve stayed healthy. I didn’t end up broke and on the streets. I remember both the struggles and the triumphs of going from zero to 60 -- and I wouldn’t want to go back. I’m glad to be here. Those were the learning years.

I’m not unaware that there could be trials in the second half too. My biggest concern is health, so I’m paying a lot of attention to staying healthy. I’m blessed with some very good genes, a natural inclination to eat what’s good for me, a commitment to exercise and an optimistic outlook that I think keeps me young and healthy no matter how many years I’m logging behind me. It also seems there’s a new issue we baby boomers have to be concerned about-- outliving our money. While I don’t want to run out of cash (and I’m taking steps to make sure that doesn’t happen), I’m thrilled to know the actuarial tables are starting to catch up with my optimism.

To me the second half is the time to reap the rewards from the first half. With the responsibilities of childrearing and working-for-a-living-whatever-that-requires behind me, it’s time to indulge: to put my wisdom and experience to work finding work to do that I truly love; to appreciate and enjoy every single day; to fill my days with new passions and interests; to savor life, because one thing is true -- in the second half you can see the reality of the end. That’s a vision that’s often lost on the young.

I come from a long line of long-lived women. My aunt still spends her days tending her abundant garden. She is 92. Her mother was still in her own home and tending to her garden on the day she died, in her mid-90’s. These two women have paved the way for me to live into my hundreds -- robust, healthy, full of energy and still enjoying new adventures.

I won’t take up skydiving in the second half. I don’t want to press the odds or tease the gods. But I will take advantage of every opportunity to do what I most want to do and to live life to its fullest. It’s my time, it’s the last time, it’s the best time.

Who Is That Woman in the Mirror?

It's a funny thing -- aging. I don't feel it on the inside, except to say that the 20-something year-old who is sometimes a 6 year-old in spirit who lives here in my mind is certainly blessed to have the wisdom and experience of an almost 61 year-old. That's about how I'd sum up my "real age". And bodywise, I am starting to tune into the "I wouldn't do that if I were you" messages I get when I try to stretch too far, pick up something too heavy, or sit cross-legged on the floor -- not to mention my occasional fantasies about taking up roller blading.

But when I look in the mirror I wonder who the hell that is! And photos...wow, not what I thought I looked like when they were taken. Damn...the camera doesn't lie. I'm even ok with any extra photo-induced pounds, but could they go on my collar bone please? And maybe fill out that stuff under my chin?! I find I'm having a little bit of a hard time adjusting to that budding "old lady" in the mirror. The image doesn't fit with who I expect to see.

Vanity...I will never dye my hair. I love my grey. I'm proud of my age. And I think denial by dyeing is just silly. You're not fooling anyone -- the dye job doesn't match the wrinkles. Even the wrinkles -- I didn't mind them at first, but I can see the shape of my face changing, the ghost of my mother (which I like seeing) and the ghosts of my grandmothers (those make me gulp a little bit because they mean I'm really teetering on the edge of old ladiness).

And vanity aside -- because ultimately I can come to grips with fading youthful looks -- what I really worry about is how looking like an old lady on the outside is going to affect my life on the inside because of how people will respond to seeing this old lady. In this country, there is an incipient ageism that is almost infused into our American DNA that discounts, discredits and sometimes "disappears" the elderly. I've even perpetrated it at times myself -- of course, when I was much younger.

I don't want that to happen to me.

I think I will go forth in this second half as an ambassador for all the old ladies -- all the old people -- of the world. I will break through that mindset that thinks old people are fine sitting in the corner, don't have much to say, have even less to contribute, and can be easily dismissed. And while I'm at it, I'm going to tell that old woman in the mirror, "Old is beautiful!"