My Last Sixty(ies) Days
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As I count down these last days of my sixties, I am filled with some trepidation. I suppose it’s only natural, hitting this milestone and having a lot of questions about where I’m at, where I thought I’d be “at”, and what I want to do from here on out.
Cuz, as I think I’ve said before, I plan to live to 100, if the Universe (or whomever/whatever) allows.
I am a child of the sixties, not hitting my stride until my seventies, and eighties (the decades I’m talking here, people). Those were great times, although you never know it at the time how great. I was finding my calling, moved to New York, got married, had two children (well, the second, technically was birthed slightly into the nineties).
That’s a lot that happened, come to think of it, looking back at it all. And, it goes by in a blur, to be sure it does.
So, now what, now, that we are empty nesters, working toward unloading our beloved, 100 year old home, Brava, you Victorian Farm House In The Village, you’re also a survivor. I trust we made you more so with improving on it, tweaking it, restoring a lot of it, updating it, modernizing it, opening it up, bringing more light into it, hopefully, all the while still retaining your character as much as possible. We love you. And, it will be hard to let you go.
But, it’s time for another, younger family to enjoy your wonders. Such a comfortable home. With lots of potential for even more improvements and love to be shown to it. To keep it going. Take it into the next period.
Kind of like me. So, I guess my house is a metaphor for me, and this next stage of my life I am entering.
But, maybe it’s best to look at it-my life-not so much as a next stage, but more as a continuation. Continuation and Rejuvenation. A “remodel”, if you will, of this aging, yet still fit, gem, my body, and my mind.
I can only hope that all of it not only stays intact and working acceptably, this physical house that belongs to me-and me alone, and that it allows itself to experience more wondrous adventures, new roads to travel, physically — and metaphorically speaking.
It’s coming. I feel the rush. I don’t know exactly how I will feel when I “hit” that number. Seventy. (My seventies decade was pretty great.) I hope I can experience it with grace, and thankfulness for lasting this long, and still growing, still improving.
I actually do look forward to it.
I’m sure there will be a lot more thoughts on all of this as I, Oh, Child of The Sixties, exits her sixties, wishing those years adieu, or…as she‘s been known to say…
Peace Out.
