One month from today I turn sixty-two. Uncle Sam has already contacted me about my Social Security Administration benefits, but so far I’ve ignored him. It’s not that I’m afraid to turn sixty-two; it’s just that I’m still in the work force and need to determine how that fact impacts financially what I do with Uncle.
What I do feel is a growing sense of being old, even in the light of such comments as “Sixty is the new fifty.” Personally, I perceive myself in pretty good shape both mentally and physically, regardless of my chronological age. I take a minimum of medication; I work out regularly; I can still work a crossword puzzle or two. But in a world where youth is not only honored but also held as the permanent ideal. I am becoming obsolete.
It’s true; I don’t have the energy I once did. I don’t have the jawline. And, I don’t have the ambition. At the same time, I still have the desire to be reckoned with in things where I know what I’m doing, to be acknowledged for my current skills and past experience, to be respected as someone who still contributes to society even if it is at a slower pace. Slow is often offset by thoughtful analysis.
I’ve told my family and friends I don’t want to live a long life. And, really, it isn’t about losing one’s faculties or one’s assets. It’s more about losing one’s place in an ever evolving world, where what you learned forty years ago or thirty years ago or twenty years ago or last week more quickly becomes irrelevant as the rate of change accelerates. It’s this factor that makes me feel old.
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