Seventy Rocks!

 
I just became 70. Seventy, as in seven decades, 20 more than 50 which sounded pretty old to me, back in the day. I thought about having a magnificent destination birthday, but my husband and I were already going to Japan later in the year. Maybe a big party at home with friends and family, but then Bob and I would be doing all the work and I didn’t want to work that hard.

What I did want was to just be, and to just be with the people I love, but not all of them at once. I am a one at a time kind of person, small two to four-person groups at best.  I wanted to do things I’ve never done before with one or two of the people I love. I went to a Pink concert with my daughter and then I went to the opening of Frontwave Arena which was featuring Simone Biles and some of America’s best gymnasts. I participated in an all-day virtual workshop with fellow writers about writing and publishing.  I’m going sea kayaking with my best friend from high school who is the same age as I am—for three months. That’s the first week of 70.

I walked into 70 without trepidation; actually I danced into it. I ‘m not just aging, as, of course, we all are—I am still growing. Still learning about the world and myself as a participant in it. Still finding out about my capabilities and building new skills.

The political climate has weighed heavily on me for the past eight years and so has the loss of thirteen friends and family members. But,no one in my family has died since 2020 and the political climate finally has a ray of hope and bonhomie. I can breathe a little and it feels as if I can finally throw off the mantle of grief I have been reluctantly wearing as so many of us have been.

Seventy feels good, especially since I am also throwing off the negative expectations of people younger than me. I have been all their ages—they have not been mine, which makes me a pathfinder. I don’t require naysayers to tell me how I am going to lose my hair, my faculties, and my family and friends as I grow older.  I understand, all too well, how my body has changed and keeps changing; I understand that it sometimes takes me a moment to remember a name, a process, a person that I know very well. I might have actually forgotten, temporarily, more things than some people know. I don’t need people to marvel at what I do “at my age.” Those who expect me to move slower, take longer in the checkout line, be unable to figure out a new phone or a computer program will be disappointed. Maybe that will be true one day, but so what.

It's not my job to change negative expectations; it’s not my business what people think. It is my job to be the best me I can be at any age. My job is to live my life with humor, courage, kindness, strength, love, gentleness, generosity and wisdom.  I am past the age of ego and acquisition and into the much more fun age of releasing and connecting.

I’m not thrilled with all the changes—who knew that it could take as long for basic maintenance as it used to take for full makeup and hair? I’m not talking about looking amazing; I’m just talking normal. I ‘ve exercised my arms, legs, core, , and butt, but there’s apparently nothing you can do about fat on your eyelids. Except surgery and only if they impede your vision. Maybe when I have cataract surgery, they can do an eyelid nip and tuck too.

If you are younger than 70, I have been your age and I need no advice from you. If you are older, I’ve got a few questions. Your advice will be appreciated--not necessarily followed, mind you, but appreciated.

Fret not about growing older—as long as you are still growing. The alternatives are stagnancy or death and of the two, death sounds a lot better than being stuck in a rut that you have created.By the way, octogenarian, nonagenarian and centenarian ladies: Does ALL your body hair fall out or does some of it stick around? Any advice for deciding when to become a single-car couple?