In what feels like the blink of an eye, the ten years of my 50s have flown past and I’m facing the dawn of a new decade.
That was fast.
Replacing that 5 with a 6 will probably take a little getting used to, at least in a literal sense. Mentally and emotionally, though, I’ve been prepping for this transition for quite some time.
It’s just a number, right?
I’m convinced, in my judgy Virgo fashion, that the people who complain the most about growing older are the ones who do not fully live their years. People who are inclined to postpone doing what their hearts truly desire or who live lives that are devoid of adventure and new experiences certainly must age faster than their more vibrant counterparts.
As is often the case, a birthday, especially one which ends in a zero, is cause for reflection. For me, it’s a time to consider both where I’ve been and where I’m hoping to go in the years ahead of me. I find myself thinking about how different, in almost every way, my life was a decade ago while also acknowledging the consistent thread of where I wanted to be and recognizing that I have in fact sewn it into my current reality.
I am so fucking lucky to be exactly where I had hoped to be as I turn the page from my 50s to face my 60s – on the Cape, with my dog and a revolving cast of dear friends. Although it is now a bit windy with clouds in sky, the sun has shined down on us the past few days. The sweaters and pants I packed are getting worn, as will the party dresses currently hanging in “my” closet.
It’s all good.
Ten years ago, I greeted my fifties with a party at the wine bar I then owned with my brother. It was a great party with fantastic pizza from DeFazio’s and a killer carrot cake baked by the same friend who had baked my wedding cake years earlier. I was working full time at school and 5 evenings a week at the restaurant, responsible for 3 children, in a doomed relationship with a sociopathic liar, and running 20 miles a week.
It was a hectic time.
Now, I’m retired and working just a single job on a schedule over which I have great control.
Despite all of the demands upon my time, it’s been a great decade of travel for me with too many trips to Europe and cities around the States to count. I’ve seen places new to me and revisited favorite spots and people, particularly in Italy and Ireland.
I’ve come to know that nothing is as pure as the love of (and for) a dog. Jeter is very much my best friend.
I’ve worked to internalize the fact that bodies change. My ability to shut down the voice in my head telling me I’m fat has greatly improved.
Like bodies, relationships change. They grow wider and deeper and lighter. Some of them no longer fit and it’s okay to let those go.
I understand that life does not come without unmet expectations or goals. The wine bar was a failed attempt at entrepreneurism, the pile of hair on the San Francisco salon floor an aborted try for material to create a donated wig, the torn menisci the barrier between my hope to complete 25 half marathons and reality.
All of it is fine.
I tried.
Not everything is meant to be forever.
I’ve enjoyed my fifties. I’m not sad that they’re over, nor am I afraid of what I’m lucky enough to experience next.
I’m here for sixty. Bring it.
DelSo 