On Turning Sixty

     "Ouch!"  That was the first post on my Facebook page on the momentous day (to me) when I turned sixty. 

     I would venture to say that everyone has fretted over a milestone birthday at some point in their lives.  I didn't-until I turned fifty.  I was somewhat dismayed, but it didn't last long.  Sixty however, was downright painful.  Not that I'm complaining-it's just a shock to the system.  It has been thirty years since I turned thirty, the first troubling milestone for many.  My son recently struggled with that one himself.  Personally, I thought forty was a piece of cake.  It didn't faze me in the least.  Again-fifty was somewhat troubling.  That year, I received a birthday card that indicated "50 isn't so bad.  It sure beats the hell out of 60!"  Truer words were never spoken.  Quite frankly, I am impressed that I can recall such detail.  

     What I didn't expect on the day of the big 6-0 was that someone would publicly berate me for my ill feelings about my age.  Yes-someone in her forties very blatantly let me know that I had no right to complain, since my age is a milestone that many folks never attain.  As if I didn't know that.  Here's a revelation: if I were the first person to have a mid-life crisis or struggle with aging, there would be no balding men driving bright red convertible sports cars, with young blondes in the passenger seat.  There would be no market for hair dyes or anti-aging creams.  There would be no dietary supplements, nor ever escalating gym memberships.  We are all fighting the inevitable, although some of us are fighting harder than others.

    In any area of peoples' lives, there are always going to be folks who are better off or worse off than we are.  I'm not so ignorant that I don't understand that, and I empathize.  However, everything is relative, and we all have our own individual struggles.  Getting old is a shock to the system.  Period.  When we are young, we think we will be young forever.  Alas, that is not true.  As we traverse the decades of our thirties and forties, those years still feel pretty good.  I can remember thinking "thirty isn't so bad", and "forty isn't so bad".  But when the fifty mark hits, realization creeps in and we are compelled to acknowledge that we are no longer young. However, that doesn't mean we have to "act" old.  When my mother was in her late fifties, she was retired.  She didn't drive, she didn't exercise, she smoked incessantly, and she drank a little to much beer for my liking.  She never colored her hair, and her makeup application left a lot to be desired.  Conversely, I am still working, and in fact, I just started a new position within the company I have worked for the past 11 years. I commute 40 miles daily to this job which I love.  I stopped smoking and drinking more than thirty years ago.  I walk regularly, am a voracious reader.  I am attending college, and  am in the process of buying a house.  I color my hair and  love (and wear) eye makeup.  I often think of my meddlesome mother, who wouldn't have taken a walk if her life depended on it. She frequently lamented that she'd only achieved a seventh grade education, yet I never saw her open a book.  She could read-she frequently read us the riot act.   But her little world revolved around attempts to control the lives of her adult children, rather than building her own life after we'd grown up and left the nest.   
     So, was I wrong in feeling a little depressed when I achieved the 6 decade milestone?  I don't believe so.  Being a little down in the dumps for one day is trivial when compared to the bigger picture that is my life.  Younger people have no right to judge me for the manner in which I cope with my age.  When the forty-something turns sixty herself, then she can offer up an opinion about it.  Of course, I will be in my seventies by then.  Unless you have lived my life, and know firsthand my joys and sorrows, I will thank you to keep your judgements to yourself.
     One of my biggest challenges at 60 is attending college  It's not easy being older than most of the professors.  Consider this: most of the students are young enough to be my grandchildren.  They show plenty of skin, skin that is smooth and with an abundance of tattoos, with shorts that ride too high, and blouses and jeans that venture too low.  I am out of my element, but I persevere.  It takes a bit of courage to do what I do.  I returned to college after thirty years, just nine credits into my degree.  I now have forty two.  I was foolish when I was young, and didn't attend college when I should have.  I consider my discomfort in the  present  circumstances to be my penance.  Perhaps some folks consider me foolish.  I know I am an embarrassment to a certain relative who shall remain nameless, but that's his problem, not mine.  I will not be deterred.  I have a goal, a number of them actually.  I will earn that diploma, and possibly a few more before I'm through.  I always was a late bloomer, a fact about myself that I have come to accept, and embrace.  If I didn't have this incessant drive, thirst for knowledge, and quest for higher education, I might turn into my mother, and make my adult children's lives a misery.  However, self enrichment is my priority, and it will remain so, as long as I am able.  Was I depressed for one solitary day in my sixty years about my age?  Yes, I was.  But as is customary for me, I picked myself up, dusted myself off, and continue on my journey, in a (hopefully) dignified manner.  After all, I sill want to impress my sons, and I want to feel proud of myself, for overcoming obstacles, for meeting challenges head on, for being resilient, and for my enormous capacity to love and to be grateful for my blessings, which are many.  And now I must close.  I am off to school to take a math assessment test.  Move over teenyboppers, and make room for the old broad.  Oh-and I won't be bringing my smart phone to the test.  I will do it the old fashioned way, utilizing my brain instead of technology. 

Seeing Things

     It's just one more sign that my age is advancing, much to my chagrin (and relief, I suppose).  Welcome to my world-of floaters.  I thought I was having a retina detachment recently when I began noticing flashing lights (not lightning, as I originally thought) and floaters that resemble many things, including cobwebs, in my field of vision.  I immediately scheduled an appointment with my optometrist, who examined me and recommended that I see a retina specialist.  Before I left, he told me about his floater, his one floater (I have many).  His resembles a fruit fly, and he finds himself batting at it-fruitlessly-because it's not a fruit fly.  My sister also has one-her's resembles a house fly.  A fly swatter had become her constant companion, and she was getting quite the upper arm workout, until one day her daughter asked her what she was after...  She was surprised, to say the least. 

     So I  visited the retina specialist, and after having my eyes poked, prodded, dilated, and photographed, he indicated that he didn't believe a tear or detachment was on my horizon.  He believes I have an age-related degeneration. (I'm somewhat grateful for that diagnosis.  A tear would have been worse.)  My youngest son had driven me to the doctor and accompanied me while I was examined.  I quickly realized that this is another blatant example of our increasing role reversals.  Now, in addition to helping me with my homework,  and acting as my personal IT Department when I am technologically challenged (which is often) my sons are taking turns transporting me to various doctor's appointments. Well, okay. Two.  But that's still two more than it used to be!

     So there is nothing to be done about my floaters, except to become accustomed to them.  On a recent drive home from work, I was certain a coyote had crossed my path, until I realized that my floater decided to dart from right to left.  I leaped out of my bed one evening when I spied a spider on my headboard. (You would be surprised at how high a woman two weeks shy of turning sixty can jump!)  But no-it was just one floater emerging from another floater, the one that resembles a cobweb.  This morning while driving to work, I thought I saw a shooting star in the distance-it wasn't. I guess that wish isn't coming true. This is the best one yet:  the one time I was sure there was a floater in my field of vision, and proceeded to ignore it-it actually turned out to be a gnat on my glasses.  I figured that out when he flew into my eye-the eye with the floaters.  What the fudge!?!?!?!