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Dec. 9, 2010 When I turned sixty, it was quite an adjustment. Several realities hit me—not the least of which was that I had to think more of the grim reaper. Sure, I have to look into the mirror at least once or twice a day, but I realized that unlike my younger years, I barely looked at me during the many bathroom breaks at work. What was that saying anyway? Yes, I am overweight. Yes, I have thinner hair and drier skin. However, thanks to genetics, my wrinkles aren’t too bad even without Rystalene and Botox. Some days I gaze at my hands and wonder what happened to the smooth white skin, now replaced by brown spots and saggy skin. I always thought that you could tell age by a woman’s hands and feet. Well, so much for my hands. My feet are getting old looking too. What the heck? Only 13 days of full time work as retirement is almost here. My aching back can no longer take computer work for 9 hours a day and 18 years doing the same job is about 17 years too many. It’s scary to think of not having a place to go to everyday, but I am going to try to fill the hours doing something more productive—whether it be working part time, writing, or trying to chisel away some flab. Speaking of flab, it was quite an adjustment when I realized that most men are no longer interested in me. I hate to brag, but I used to be thin and attractive. Cat calls are now replaced by young man asking if I want a seat on the Metro. I look at some young men and fantasize about a roll in the hay. Then I feel guilty when I think that they are younger than my sons and how perverted my thinking might be. Since I’ve been married almost three-fourths of my life, I wonder what life would have been for me if I had married so and so. Would I have been able to retire years ago, move to a fabulous winter home and dedicate my life to plastic surgery and working out? Perhaps, I would have been blessed with doting daughters instead of estranged daughters-in-law. Maybe I would have many grandchildren who live nearer to me instead of two that live 3000 miles away. And, devoted sons……..not so much. Could I have followed my passion of earlier years and become that teacher I always longed to be? Would I have been financially able to have more children? Born with a better, stable spine? I guess these are thoughts that my age allows me to ponder. What could I have contributed to the world had I been born to educated, American parents instead of immigrants who thought women had no need for education or power. As long as my memory accommodates me, I can remember the early years of courtship with my husband. How we couldn’t be away from each other and how just looking into his eyes turned me on. Now, I long for someone to chase me around the bedroom, but instead, we complain about each other’s snoring. I question my worth as a mother. I was very young, but I did keep an immaculate house with complete dinners served each night around our kitchen table. My sons were cleaned and dressed to the nines each day. My self confidence was lousy and I allowed panic disorder to consume too many years.
Sixty has been a time of real reflection. Some of my younger days I long for again and to most I say farewell. Unlike my younger days, I really know who I am and what you see if what you get. No pretentions and no more “shoulds”. If I am housing more cellulite than I should, oh well. The reality is that we aren’t guaranteed tomorrow, so today is my only day and I am going to stop literally and smell the roses and speak to the little sparrows. Years ago, I found a quote that served me then and still does. (It’s one of the few things that does!) “Do not wish to be anything but what you are, but be that perfectly.” I am almost there.
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