I’ve never been one to get upset over birthdays and aging. But, I must confess, turning 30 was a difficult age for me. Though now, at 68, I can only laugh. How I would love to be 30 again. The next birthday that caused me an untold amount of grief was 60. Should I have the privilege of living to at least 90, I suspect I might freak out again. Though, at 90, I’m not sure why.
When I turned 60 it occurred to me perhaps for the first time, in a big way, that I was indeed aging and that one day I would die. A proposition that did not bring me great pleasure. It took me several years to come to terms with the reality that I was well into my senior years and that people would look at me as “old”. I sure didn’t feel old. And frankly, at nearly 70 now, I still don’t “feel” old. But, I am.
