Turning 60 has its interesting features, like having to add cancer, thyroid, and heart medications to your travel list. Among the feeling that now perhaps you are finally becoming a wise woman, and in six months 
actually becoming a babicka to a granddaughter, there is also a feeling of contemplation that the cats you have now may be the cats you have with you when you pass. How do we find the joy of feeling alive?
With a whole new list of medications to travel with are now the brief moments of uncertainty of what could happen on a trip. The possibility is rare, but hey, so was that atrial flutter Mike went into three weeks ago after 10 games of squash. At almost 60, you become the queen of practicing “hope for the best and prepare for the worst” every day.
60 sounds so old but then my amazing mother-in-law is 90, had a five-hour back surgery at 89, and now bakes cinnamon rolls for our every visit. She also cares for my 92-year-old father-in-law at home. Some might say that is dangerous or uncaring. But that is what she wants to do and they want to age in place as long as possible. We were fairly frantic about it but we decided to go with where they are at, hope for the best, and have preparations should something happen. They aren’t teenagers and we have to be sure and treat them as parents and adults. I also remember my mother in her last year of pancreatic cancer, her back bent in kyphoscoliosis and her head hanging low from some strange side effect of the radiation and metastasis, still wanting to pull up my Dad’s compression hose. She would somehow get down on the floor, put on those big plastic Playtex yellow gloves, roll up the stiff white stockings, and ease them up on my Dad’s legs. This was no easy task given her physical state and having to use gloves for traction. But, she did it and wanted no help from us.
Yes, there are aches and pains. The body wants to become interesting shapes that make finding clothes a bit challenging. You might decide to go gray but I like how my box color blends into the gray and shares some red, gold, and yes, white “highlights”. It reminds me I was always the odd man out amidst all my blonde-haired, blue-eyed siblings and cousins. Then there are moments of a bit of shame when my friend, who kindly came over to help me sort through my clothes was blunt. “Lisa, that’s just too youthful.” But then she combined some accessories, a scarf here, some color there, and made me look like the charming maven I aspire to be without looking like a Sherwin – Williams color wheel. I can’t say I dress like that every day because here in Colorado, throwing on some sportswear in gray, black, khaki, and navy is so quick and easy to get out in the sun and be active. Perhaps I am a bit vain and want to be sort of cute.
At almost 60, I love being around youth and young adults. Their lives are the same as in my 30s – moving around and into careers, getting married, having children, being single, having adventures, settling down, maybe going to graduate school and somewhere in there, beginning to contemplate life. It’s enjoyable to be a part of that and try not to add the awful, “back in my day.” We had the Cold War. They have 9/11 and mass shootings. I’m not trivializing any of this. I am thinking how strong many are and yet, they are like all who have come before us and will after us. Living life to the best of their ability, whatever that is.
So how to live life fully at almost 60? For me, it’s taking pause. Enjoying the moment. Pacing and not feeling like I have to do everything this month. I’ve done that and somehow survived. Saying “not now” is OK. Living is not always running a mile a minute. It’s watching the bees at happy hour working their flight patterns like a miniature airport. Texting an emoji “heart face” to a friend. Taking a moment to write a friend an email and telling them how amazing they are. Writing a card is a bonus moment. Having adventures and learning new things – whether it is a plant-based diet, foraging, or paddleboarding on Horsetooth.
When am I most alive? When I am writing. When I see a sunset, and, if I can get myself up, the glory of the earliest rosy sunrise in Colorado, especially in the winter. I am alive when I hear the baby birds chirp at 4 a.m. because I guess I know I made it another day. I am alive when I am holding my husband’s hand during church service and when I squeeze his hand with our usual “Thank you for Michael” before we eat. I don’t feel alive when I’m tired and stressed. I just feel pooped. I am alive when I feel grateful, feel loved, and love. I will feel alive when I hold my first grandchild.
It’s rather sobering to understand the friends I am making now will very likely be the 20-30-year friends when I am 90. We may or may not be doing water aerobics together but at best, I can hope we have coffee, maybe a beer or a glass of wine, and moan that everyone around us is dying off. We can roll out the Mahjongg and have a couple of nice games filled with jokers, and if we are still able, take a hike, cast a line, and take pause together. I want to pull up my husband’s compression hose, bake kolaches for my family, and watch the sunset with my husband.
When do you feel alive? I hope it is every day.
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