Turning sixty is the panic at the end of a long, timed test: you have ten minutes remaining and pages of questions left to answer. Do you answer as many as you can, haphazardly, hoping to score on guesses, or take the time to answer thoughtfully and with conscious certainty? You spend the next few minutes anxiously deliberating this and you realize that you may not get a chance to do either if you do not decide. The clock ticks away whether you choose or not.
The loss of a limitless future, while always illusionary, has done more to my already grim outlook on life than anything I can remember. At sixty, if you are lucky, you are three quarters used up. There is so much more behind you than ahead that it seems remarkably futile. Inasmuch as the last few years have been a surreal carnival of societal disintegration, my own life and perspective has become clouded with age and the growing vacancy of my mind and soul. Age has brought an unwelcome lack of focus, and my inherent laziness has doubled so much so, that I can spend days shuffling from the couch to the chair by the window, doing nothing, like old, unfulfilled men everywhere. Looking backwards leads to regrets. Unfortunately all my imagined futures lead to regrets as well.
I spent my morning taking flowers to my mother’s grave, as taking her flowers on my birthday was our tradition. She was sweet person who I love very much. Laurie and and I took flowers to her parents too. I clearly saw all of our parents in their decline after the age of sixty. The calcifying of their opinions, and their struggle to remain relevant, even to themselves , all witnessed like melting glaciers. My view of the strong people who I loved, aging and failing is both a blessing and a curse. You can see whats coming from their experience, but the weight of gravity can not be stopped. Maybe, since whats ahead is known, one can learn to glide rather than drop like a brick to the pavement. Sentimentality aside, spending time in cemeteries on your sixtieth birthday is probably not recommended .
I am lucky enough to have a beautiful partner and best friend, in whom I can see my reflection in love. She makes my life good, when she isn’t vigorously instructing me on ways to take better care of myself- which I seem incapable of actually doing. My sons are fine young men, of whom I am quite proud. My cats, while occasionally annoying are for the most part affectionate and well behaved. There is much in my life to be happy with.
If I can drive my original metaphor into the ground: I would like to stop, tear up the test, and leave without a grade or credit. What time there is left will come and go as it should.
