When no-one knows you're 60
I’ve never been big on birthdays. They were stressful times when I was growing up. So much expectation, so much disappointment. And that was just my Mum. It was never simply my birthday but a huge obligation to be met.
When I left home, I mostly ignored my birthday and hoped others would too. I dreaded a big fuss. A surprise party would have been my worst nightmare.
This year I was 60. No-one knew. I didn’t receive a single card with numbers on it. Chris and I had an afternoon tea, and that was it. My idea of the perfect birthday. Flying under the radar. Doing things my way.
But it wasn’t about the number. Something had been afoot for a while.
A greater sense of time being finite, a need to get clear on what was important. Would I pursue my dreams and goals - finally? What were my goals now?
I think menopause is a marker. It draws a line in the sand between who you were and who you might become. It marks the end of a chapter and the start of a brand new one. Perhaps a final season or, at least, the penultimate one.
When you’re younger, you think 60 is over the hill. I read in Retirement Rebel that medics used to consider 60 as geriatric just a few decades ago.
We live in a culture that sees older people as past it, one foot in the grave, heading towards oblivion.
What if it’s yet another beginning. The goal posts may have shifted but there’s everything still to play for.
I’m intrigued by a process that seems biological and primal. As Brené Brown puts it (and I will keep repeating):
Midlife is when the universe gently places her hands upon your shoulders, pulls you close, and whispers in your ear: I’m not screwing around. All of this pretending and performing—these coping mechanisms that you’ve developed to protect yourself from feeling inadequate and getting hurt—has to go. Your armor is preventing you from growing into your gifts. I understand that you needed these protections when you were small. I understand that you believed your armor could help you secure all of the things you needed to feel worthy and lovable, but you’re still searching and you’re more lost than ever. Time is growing short. There are unexplored adventures ahead of you. You can’t live the rest of your life worried about what other people think. You were born worthy of love and belonging. Courage and daring are coursing through your veins. You were made to live and love with your whole heart. It’s time to show up and be seen.
Only one person I know has spoken about this life OS update at 60. Yes, there’s more talk about menopause now (but I don’t find much of it very helpful). There are people like Sharon Blackie who write about wise women and midlife.
And the second half of our lives.
Cheryl Richardson, who wrote one of my favourite books, recorded an audiobook, Self-Care for the Wisdom Years: Practical Ways to Celebrate the Mystery and Wonder of Aging.
And an abridged version, in podcast format, of Clarissa Pinkola Estés talking about the dangerous old woman.
Much of this is helpful, and some of it inspiring. But there’s a sense that this is a path we each walk alone.
I want to write more about what this alchemical process is like for me. Much of this will be shared privately. I invite you to subscribe if this topic resonates with you.
Here’s to the next five years!