Welcome to My Sixth Decade (that I can remember, because ages 0–10 were such a blur), or 60 Reasons to Celebrate My Boomer Age

I will soon “celebrate” a birthday. An EPIC birthday. A date that will linger on in infamy.

I lie. It’s been about 30 years since I “celebrated” my mother pushing me out of her womb and onto a cold dirt floor in a hut in Okinawa. (True story. The hut, the dirt floor, and the lack of celebration. Maybe not the cold. After all, Okinawa is a tropical island.) At my age, birthdays feel more like lead weights hanging from the neck than they do a wild party with beer pong and Jello shots and frantic dancing to Led Zeppelin at 3 a.m. I am a boring, old person. (The last time I stayed up past midnight was 1999. You know. Y2K. I figured I should be awake to witness the end of the world as we knew it. Result: It was a bust.)

I know I am rather the hardcore cynic (sorry, born that way - you know, dirt floor), but I’m trying to recover. To commemorate this prodigious event, I have decided to list the first 60 reasons why I should be celebrating my Boomer Age.

1. Finally, I can withdraw from my 401K (which, after the last few weeks, is now an -01K). Of course, I could have done that six months ago, when I turned 59 and a half and it was still a 401K. But I didn’t.
2. I’m one step closer to Social Security. The jury is out whether or not this is a plus. My gut feeling is that I will not get a dime, but we’ll see.
3. Menopause is officially OVER! Hallelujah, praise be, and pass the margaritas, please. My 50s were hellacious, as in living in a sweat-soaked hell.
4. I no longer care about clothes or fashion. No. Really. Before, I dressed like a Bohemian-artist-pot-smoker to make a statement. Now I dress like that because I’m too lazy to buy new clothes. When you’re my age, it’s all about comfort.
5. I don’t care what people think of me. Gone are those self-conscious days thinking everyone is looking at me and judging me for my looks, weight, fashion sense, ethnic background, or anything else. I honestly do not give a fuck.
6. Conversely, I really don’t care about other people’s business. I’m not going to laugh at a person who is overweight or awkward, or who wears mismatched socks. Just leave me alone and I will do the same for you.
7. I do not need a new purse. I certainly don’t need a designer purse, so lay off the email, Tory Burch. (I might still buy a designer purse if I find one marked 75% off at Nordstrom Rack. Puh-leeze. A bargain is a bargain.)
8. I’ve lost the desire to vacation like a royal. The days of longing for a luxury hotel are thankfully gone. (Been there, done that.) My only exception is when I attend the San Francisco Writers Conference. I spend the conference at the Mark Hopkins (super-swank), but as soon as it’s over, I head for the cheapie motel near Ocean Beach.
9. I don’t want a super-duper car. Or one that costs more than a small mansion in Detroit. The last cool car I had to beg for was my 2002 Monte Carlo, but I was still in my 40s. In my youth, I loved gunning it down the highway just like most people do. But eleven years ago when gas prices skyrocketed, I revolted, bought a Prius, and started driving like a grandma.
10. For the most part, I’ve given up eating out. My husband and I are food snobs, and we have had the most delicious dinners at the finest restaurants all over the country. But…I’ve learned to cook in the last 30 years. In fact, I’m a damned good cook. Eating at (most) restaurants is a trial because we are forever comparing our dishes to what I could make.
11. I sincerely believe I was a young/new adult during the best age of popular music. Cat Stevens. James Taylor. Carole King. Joni Mitchell. Motown. Neil Young. The Rolling Stones. Each of the disbanded Beatles. Santana. Seeger. The Who. Queen. CSNY. The Zep. CREEDENCE. Good God, those were good times!
12. I’ll wear out before some of the things I will buy. That new roof on the house? I might outlast that - if I live to 109.
13. My anxiety level has decreased. Well. With the possible exception of worrying about my grown children, I rarely stress about anything, and even if I do, I know I can’t change anything or anyone but myself.
14. I don’t care about dressing up. I have a closet full of sequins and ballgowns and sky-high heels that I haven’t worn in years. Just give me yoga clothes and sweaters and I’m in heaven.
15. I’ve given up worrying about my hair. After years of lamenting its loss, I surrender. I no longer have as much as I used to, and it doesn’t bother me anymore that it’s straight as a board and resists styling or is somewhat graying. If it’s not short enough to forego a blow dryer, it’s long enough to ponytail, and that’s fine with me.
16. I don’t give a shit about the Joneses. When you’re my age, you thank your lucky stars every day you wake up. I’m not in competition with my neighbors, or anyone else.
17. Senior discounts! Some places will give you a discount if you’re 50 or 55, but now I’m up for all the discounts. (I’m not a member of AARP, they drive me crazy, but I am a member of AMAC - just as good, not as annoying.)
18. Make up is for the young. My ‘daily ritual’ includes a shower and brushing my teeth. I don’t have time for mascara.
19. I’m in fairly good shape for my age. Thanks to luck, a sensible diet, and a strict exercise regime. If I had to rely on genetics, I would have had a heart attack two years ago.
20. I rarely find myself in a hurry anymore. I could stand in line forever, even behind that clueless old man trying to use the Meijer self-checkout (limit 12) with his shopping cart of 150 items.
21. I’m definitely more adventurous. I used to be a serious introvert, but I am now forcing myself to do things like introduce myself to agents at writers conferences.
22. I can talk to anyone. (Related to #17) No kidding. This serious introvert can insert herself into conversations with total strangers. To the horror of her children. (I’ve actually spoken to that homeless guy at the end of the N-Judah.)
23. I don’t care if I fail. Hell, at my age, I’ve found that failure is a part of life, just like death and taxes. I’ve come to expect a certain amount of failure.
24. Embarrassment? What’s that? I can’t remember the last time I felt embarrassed. (Oh, my. I’m becoming my Grandma Della who had the vocabulary of a seasoned sailor…)
25. That’s me in the slow lane doing the speed limit. My Prius can do 80+, but I’m not going there. Speeding tickets suck.
26. Cozy nights at home are more popular than going out. Back in the day, I used to drag my husband out to go dancing. I had more energy then; not anymore. And, I’m afraid one of us will slip a disc if we tried to dance now.
27. I’m smarter than I used to be when it comes to judging people. Years of dealing with manipulative, evil, fast-talkers has honed my intuition.
28. I have no problem falling asleep. I’ve never really had a bad case of insomnia like some of my sisters do, but now I’m so tired by 8:30 p.m., I’m out like a light in no time. I stay that way, too.
29. I don’t have to see a movie the minute it comes out. The last time I went to a movie in a theater was eight years ago. I can wait for the DVD, thank you.
30. I don’t have to be trendy. Not that I ever was, but now I don’t have to maintain the pretense of it.
31. Perfection is highly overrated. I give up. I’m not perfect. You’re not perfect. No one is perfect. I do the best I can with what I have and call it a day. (You won’t realize this until you’re older.)
32. Nothing about my husband bothers me. There was a time when the little things would drive me berserk, like how he would leave the cabinets open, or how he would hang up the phone without saying goodbye, or how he’d change a diaper and forget to put a new one on the child before dressing him in his onesie. (That happened.) It does minorly bother me that he texts and drives, but that’s his deal. Repeat after me: Life. Insurance.
33. I don’t mind saying ‘no.’ After years of being a yes-girl, I realize my limitations, and no longer feel obligated to be all and do all for everyone.
34. I don’t have to be right all the time. I gave up that burden years ago. Now I’m lighter than air.
35. I’ve given up striving to be Super Woman. You can’t do it all. You don’t want to do it all. So don’t do it all. Don’t even try.
36. Just because you’re old doesn’t mean you can’t learn anything new. If you are a human being, you can always learn something new. With the Internet, knowledge is cheap.
37. I might not know code or life hacks or how to startup, but I could find nourishment in the wilderness. I can tell an edible from poison and will live to 109. Yes, even in the desert.
38. Bodily functions don’t gross me out anymore. I’ve had my share of blood (daughter’s nose almost cut off), guts (cat’s intestinal prolapse), vomit (daughter - 11 times driving over the Rockies), and toxic, rotting flesh (cleaned up after an alcoholic friend who passed away). The Huspek side of the family delights in nasal excavation and pointing out how large/unusual/artistic the excrement is in the toilet bowl. I’ve lived it all. Unfortunately.
39. Not all my friends are dead. Yet. In order to continue saying that, I pledge to make new ones, hopefully younger ones, as well as continue to cultivate the old.
40. My elderly father and I have more things in common now. He’s always been my favorite parent (and in the last 24 years, my only parent), but now we share the special bond of being old together.
41. I’ve earned the right to Curmudgeon-dom. I’ve always been cranky, but had no right to it until this birthday.
42. I’m too old to pursue past grievances. In my lifetime, there are a few people I claimed to HATE. Yes, that is a strong word, but at the time I directed my passionate dislike toward people who wronged me. Now, I really don’t give a shit. I’ve even made up with some of my once-avowed enemies. At my age, hatred sucks up precious energy I could be using for something else.
43. I’ve learned through a lifetime of excess (especially in my 20s) that moderation is key. ‘Nuff said. A little wine, a little carbs, even fast food once in a blue moon. Just don’t overdo.
44. Picking a fight is pointless. What does it get you? Unless it’s something you would die for, it’s so not worth it.
45. The Creative is everything. That’s why left to my own devices, I’d rather write or work on art, for my own enjoyment. When I’m dead and gone, no one will remember how much money I made during my Day Job in 2016. But my stories and my art will live forever.
46. I’m old enough to listen to opposite points of view without blowing a gasket. Ah, the young. So intent on their point of view, they can’t listen to the alternative. I was there once; I was militant. In high school, I was referred to as the “radical.” Now I’m so cynical, I don’t even believe my side.
47. I can use a computer AND write in a notebook. I have both. I feel for those who are not taught cursive writing, however. Just forming the letters is a lost art. I find that writing longhand makes my words more thoughtful. Writing is not only about word count.
48. I can drive AND walk. I live in Motown, so one rarely sees a person here actually walking. I know that if gas dries up and cars are rendered inoperable, I can find my way from here to San Francisco just by using my feet. And without a road map.
49. Speaking of maps, I know how to read one. I know. So archaic in this era of GPS.
50. Small children don’t bother me anymore. In my 20s, I couldn’t stand them. Then we had a couple. There were still days where I couldn’t stand them. Now my children are adults and out of the house. Now I can stand small children; in fact, I find them interesting. Maybe it’s the impending grandmother in me. Not that I’ll have grandkids any time soon. My two adult children are not yet fully formed.
51. I still have most of my faculties. Thankfully, yes. Get back to me in 20 years and let’s see if I still have them.
52. I have witnessed some of the greatest moments in history. I wouldn’t trade to a different time. I remember the day JFK was assassinated. Martin Luther King Jr. too. I saw men land on the moon. The time the Beatles were on Ed Sullivan. Too young for Woodstock, but I remember that summer. Gas lines in the 70s. Disco. The destruction of the Berlin Wall. Monica Lewinsky. 9–11. I’ve seen microwaves (TVs, stereos, cell phones, cameras, you name it) go from massive and expensive to compact and cheap. From reading hard copy books and magazines to digital. The last 60 years have been a moving and shaking time all around.
53. I’m smart enough to have a stash. Food, light bulbs, batteries. Extra propane. Bring on the failure of the grid; I’m ready.
54. By this time, everything has been paid off. The house, the business, the cars. What a freaking relief! Can you say breathe? It’s all gravy now.
55. I can blame everything on old age and get away with it. What did you say? I forgot.
56. Now that I’m old, it’s okay to be selfish. Listen up, kids, husband, family, business: I gave you the best years of my life. It’s MY turn to enjoy myself.
57. I know who I am and really like her. Self-doubt is for people in their 20s. I was there once, so I know. The world is daunting then, or it’s your oyster and you expect it to shit pearls. Either way, you’re testing the waters, trying to find out who you are. Believe me when I say it’s so much easier to be myself now.
58. No one notices that I don’t have a manicure. No one who knows me cares. They know I have my hands in my garden, or wire and pickle, or that I wash my floors by hand (up close and personal, where I can see the dirt); therefore, fingernail polishing is an exercise in futility. My last manicure was in 2012 when my son got married. It was a gel job that took me six months to remove. No thank you, ma’am, I will pass.
59. At my age, I don’t mind being alone. I used to be one of those needy, jealous bitches who gave their partner(s) a hard time when they didn’t pay (enough) attention to me. I did it to my husband for a while, but keeping up the harping gets to be tiring. At some point, you get comfortable with the notion that you are your own person. Enjoy yourself. Your worth is not based on your partner; you have your own worth. Once I started looking at my life like that, I started looking forward to alone time.
60. And finally, now that I’m soon-to-be 60, I can say with great conviction that the only good thing about the future is that I won’t be around for it. Kids, the world is a scary place and getting scarier. I may be old, but I’m still a big chicken. I’ve truly enjoyed my last six decades. I don’t want to be around for Armageddon or its aftermath.

Good luck, you young whippersnappers. Come back when you hit the Big 6–0 and we’ll talk.