The best part about turning sixty is that I’m no longer fifty-nine and dreading the day. I feel liberated! Now I’m young again! After all I’m just sixty! I’m good to go for another nine years, well, maybe seven or eight at which time I will probably start the “oh, my God, I’m almost how old?????”
The moment the calendar turned last year and I saw where I was headed, I was overcome with a serious case of dread. Every morning, when I woke up and remembered that I was one day closer to the end of the world, panic set in. I had to wrestle my psyche to the ground before I could put one foot in front of the other and get myself to the bathroom to brush my teeth. Then I’d spend the next twenty minutes talking to myself, stomping out my fears with positive affirmations and wrangling my thoughts with an iron fist onto the day at hand ~ far out of reach from anything remotely related to, shshshhhh….my age.
Now that I’ve walked the green mile and have crossed over to the other side, I can live again. So what? Sixty is just a number. I knew that all along. I just couldn’t make my fears believe it. I have my health (mostly), I’m doing what I love to do (mostly), I have my family (mostly) and I have today…now. If I didn’t know how old I was, if there weren’t any calendars, or ads for anti-aging products, or prescription drug ads, or news about the latest catastrophe, or mirrors I would simply feel old enough to know better and young enough to keep at it.
Life is good. Who cares what my birth certificate says or what the latest fashion magazine thinks I should be wearing or more importantly should not be wearing?
I’m following my bliss and that’s that. When I’m not, that’s when I need to worry, not simply because of a number on a piece of paper that’s starting to show the wear and tear of time. That’s my truth and I’m sticking to it! (At least for a while!)