Sixty

Sixty

The wind whistles through the windows of the house.  The door to the garage gives an occasional shake.  Winter has blown in and it is time to release my grip on autumn.  Relax into the ice and the snow. 

I wrote my age, 59 for the last time.  First time I’ve noticed the moment when writing my age and it was never going to be again.  No more 50’s.  60.  I’m sixty.  Now the questions will come, “when are you going to retire?”   Or maybe, “are you retired?”. 

It’s like being asked if I am pregnant and I’m not.  Something I heard in my 30’s.  It rattled me too.  I would look down at my bulging belly that had once held a baby.  Time far enough away from that event the bump shouldn’t be there anymore.  It’s always a surprise when you think you are looking okay.  “What do you mean, am I pregnant?”

Hearing “when are you going to retire?”will  shake me.  Physically.   I still have a college student.  Still wear cute clothes from Loft.  Still wear “fashion” boots.  Kayak, bike up to 30 miles a ride and snowshoe.  Snowshoe.  That seems a bit older but still.    

My uncle asked how old I am.  My aunt, too.  I wonder if they were surprised.  More themselves being my elders.  Putting them in another age bracket.  My uncle wanted his wisdom of late seventies to his sixty-year-old body.  We want that energy but love the wisdom.

I can remember biking hard miles when we lived in Nebraska.  I was just in my early thirties and so proud how much I could do given my age.  What a silly thought.  Like I was old.  I was a teenager.    

I was told by a patient I was giving chemotherapy to and telling her it was my 30^th birthday.  She said the thirties are the best.  You find your voice, she said.  Stop worrying about what others think of you.  Advice from the wise one in the chemo chair to the stupid one who isn’t worrying about dying. 

The thing is I remember this advice and sometimes give it. I can’t say I that I lived into that thought.   I am a work in progress.  Thirty could be the decade we begin to realize we are worthy of that voice. 

Perhaps 60 will be the decade I really speak my truth.  Know what I am asked to do and knowing I am capable of the ask.  No more thinking I cannot live up to another’s standard.  I can live up to my own heart’s desire. 

Let this decade be one the wind blows in and shakes my windows and doors.   Stirring me.  When hearing “Are you going to retire?” I hear instead, “Wow!  You are amazing for your age.  What are you going to do next?”