It seems strange to say, far less think, but turning sixty has been a good thing. The age itself recedes as life comes more sharply into focus. There is an immediacy and a calling to live more fully because this really is it.
Life has become more colourful and more urgent. There is a blessing in the past, an appreciation of the lessons learnt and a sloughing off a skin that no longer serves.
The body sometimes grumbles, the aches and pains more regular, the memory a little hazier and the hair a little greyer but there is a willingness to try new things, to experiment, to take up space and to have a voice.
Maybe we know better how to look after ourselves. Perhaps we have always known but dismissed the knowledge, thinking it was not important. Heard ourselves saying, I’m fine, when for sure we knew that we were not. But now we know if we ignore that voice, our lives will be shorter, flatter and like our hair, greyer.
I look at an industry devoted to maintaining the appearance of youth with fillers, acids, Botox and implants and think of the women I have loved and their faces complete with wrinkles, and frown lines and age spots. I think of their kindness and laughter and warmth and resilience and know that they are my idols.
At the beginning of the year I celebrated with a holiday in warmer climes where the days were filled with rain and sunshine, with sting rays and snorkelling, with lying on the beach and swinging in hammocks, with dancing on the terrace and swimming at midnight,with sitting under waterfalls and walking barefoot, with yoga and cocktails.
I also started the year with cancelled plans and panic and stress, with hospices on standby, and palliative services alerted.
Turning sixty does not take any of this away, in fact if anything the stressful days have multiplied but as long as I can, I will hold on to this feeling that life is for living and that this decade is for celebrating.
the unsung 