A few years ago, I suffered the trauma of changing decades … again.
My husband and I first experienced this phenomenon on my twentieth birthday. I told my then-boyfriend, “Someday, I might even turn 30.”
He looked deep into my eyes. “Let’s grow old together.”
I reveled in our romantic moment—until he, who would not change decades for another six months, said, “Of course, you’ll always be older than me.”
He almost didn’t make it past his teens.
Facing this recent age shift, however, proved harder than facing 20, even if “60 is the new 40.” Yet, who am I to buck mathematical progress? Not only would I like those “60 is the new 40” folks to track my age, I wish they would check my weight. And work for the IRS.
I went further, embracing “60 is the new 30.” Changing decades this last time reminded me of pregnancy. The same gradual belly expansion, losing sight of feet. Wearing the same two waistless outfits, despite a full closet.
Still, changing decades again proved more positive than I anticipated.
Years ago, I read in a women’s magazine about an hour make-up regimen for joggers. Seriously.
Today, no one expects me to wear three kinds of lip gloss when I exercise. And run? Spectators applaud if I walk, displaying only mild cardiac symptoms.
Turning 60 also provided peace and quiet. Phone surveyors demanding input from the 35-to-59-year-old crowd suddenly lost interest in my views on Daylight Savings Time, potholes, sock replacement and the Theory of Relativity. I miss sharing my opinions. But what are relatives for?
Travel presents positives, too. When I was younger, flight attendants glared while I heaved my fat carry-on into a compartment. Now — especially if I clutch my back — they heave it for me and later extract it like a wisdom tooth.
That courtesy can’t compare, though, with my first-ever school lunch with my granddaughter. We ate in a claustrophobic room vibrating with jet-engine-decibel noise. Yet that dining experience rated five stars.
Na-na-na-boo-boo! I received the senior discount, and he didn’t.
How do you celebrate changing decades? Cruises? Trips to Paris? Extra prune juice?