Stalking Sixty

Reality is buzzing in my ear like an aggressive Asian tiger mosquito — attacking me day and night. Since I turned 50, I have been moving along, enjoying midlife. However, with the reality of age 60 creeping up over the horizon, I realize, that unless I live to be 120, this is no longer midlife. And that realization has made me anxious and scared. Suddenly, the period at the end of my story is no longer a 10 book series away. Hopefully, it won’t be the one at the end of this blog entry.

The year I turned 50 I wrote a blog devoted to that year, and among the rants, raves and complaints about current events were a few, carefully hidden essays about growing older.  Fears about becoming the neighborhood “crazy old lady,” thanks to the Supreme Court for categorizing people my age as a protected class, and snippets about memory loss and never being able to retire. It was a basic thumbing of my nose at age 50, and a fierce assertion that I was still a cool, hip and savvy person, keeping up with technology, trends and popular culture.

All that was pre-menopause, pre-grandmotherhood, pre-falling in love and pre-glasses. I refuse to say pre-wrinkles because with all the stuff I use on my face, there had better not be any wrinkles now. At least ones that I can see without my glasses (my preferred way of looking in the mirror).

Almost 10 years have gone by, and I find myself still wondering what I am going to be when I grow up. And perhaps that is a good thing. Growing up, in a sense, means reaching some sort of pinnacle, and you know what is on the other side of a pinnacle? A sharp drop. So, I will accept growing older, but fight getting old with every creative bone in my body. Laughter, poetry, art, love, friendship and family. My grandchildren may have to hang Nanny’s artwork on their refrigerators or read bedtime stories that Nanny wrote.

Years ago, my nephew told his mom that I was “always smiling.” If that is what I am remembered for, if laughter is my legacy, then my story can end with an exclamation point. But not anytime soon, I’m stalking sixty.