Mirror, Mirror on the Wall....

Mirror, mirror on the wall…. In one month from today, I turn sixty years old. Even writing that out looks odd to me. Age, I know, is relative—relative to the person who’s talking about aging. My mother thinks I’m still young but she’s in her 80s. I think my kids are young but they’re in their 30s. And they often say they’re old. So, really, who’s young and who’s old?

Turning fifty didn’t even phase me. I actually looked forward to it since, well, society considers fifty to be the youngest of seniors. I was anticipating the fun I could have walking into IHOP, ordering off the senior menu, and then laughing at the look on the server’s face as she said, “But you’re not a senior, are you?” I say this because, at fifty, I didn’t look my age and I received a number of such comments. I barely had a few silver hairs. Lines hadn’t really yet invaded my face, and makeup still had the ability to transform me from “wake-up face” to “public face.”

Most of that has changed in the ensuing ten years. I don’t mean to say I’ve let myself go. It’s simply that at some point in life, we will all succumb to the aging process. It’s inevitable and my time has come. And passed. I want to give in gracefully yet continue to fight the good fight. That isn’t an easy line to walk.

So why does turning sixty sound so … old? What is it about that number? As I mentioned above, fifty is a milestone. It has its privileges. A good amount of entertainment value. Yet add ten years and all that has gone by the wayside. Time has marched on and sixty is over that mid-century mark. Gosh, even THAT sounds shocking.

My ex-mother-in-law used to say we shouldn’t worry about having birthdays. It’s when we stop having them that we should really worry. My ex-father-in-law decided he wasn’t getting any older somewhere around the age of 50. He chose to go backward and, with each added birthday, he got a year younger. Sorta Benjamin Button but without the accompanying difficulties. By the time he passed away, he was somewhere around twenty-five. Not bad, eh?

Maybe age is all relative. Maybe it is a state of mind, as so many often say. Maybe, just maybe, we get old only when we stop living young. I have a month yet and I think I’ll start right now with an attitude adjustment. I just have to stop thinking so much and, instead, look forward to being blessed with another birthday … and maybe I’ll also choose to go backward. If I do that, I can be in my fifties for another ten years!