In October I observed my 60th birthday. Up until now, I have believed and encouraged others to celebrate the fact that we made it through one more year, that age is a state of mind, it's just a number!
But I struggle with this particular marker. It is a turning, an age of passage. In a few short years I can retire, which is a good thing. Right?...
I am sure only those who have already been here recognize my angst.
In an essay Garrison Keillor advises: Be a grouch. He talks about how awkward it is to turn 60 in America, where youth is glorified, and that the Scots ("a wonderful dour tribe") are the few people who don't buy into the "fairy tale" that these are the best years of our lives.
Others say that when you turn 60 you can now say anything you want and wear or not wear what you choose. If all of us boomers listen to that, Lord help this planet!
I don't yet know how to act this age. Don't you think of yourself as a younger version of yourself and become startled by the face in the mirror? And that sore knee and wrinkled hand should be the complaint of someone else.
And if I ignore it, it won't go away. It is reality and it is in my face, literally. As Eeyore says, "Oh my"! I resemble him more than I want to admit. That small pink bow on a tail which he loses often and needs the help of friends to find.