The big 6-0, or as I prefer fifty-ten

February 14 2013

Valentine’s Day arrived, and with it my 60th birthday. My Dad was terrible remembering birthdays, anniversaries and any special dates (despite numerous reminders from other members of the family), and his excuse for Valentine’s Day was that he had already given my Mum the best gift ever – me! Fortunately she agreed on that point.

Anyway, I had been dreading the day for some time now – somehow 30, 40 and 50 didn't phase me at all, but 60 … now that was scary! As a 50-something it all felt good, but suddenly, approaching 60 was filling me with all sorts of foreboding. I think a major part of it was that my Dad passed away at 67 (from cancer) so my subconscious was telling me I might only have 7 years left, though my conscious was telling me that my Mum lived till she was 86, and that is a much happier thought!

The world didn't end on February 14, and I am still the same person I was the day before – and I still feel and think the same way I have for the past 25 years (at least, if not for longer). The body may have a few more aches and pains on a bad day, but nothing incapacitating, I still have most of my teeth, and, though slightly receding, all of my hair, even if it is now “salt and pepper” coloured. I have just ordered a mountain bike online – not for riding up mountains, but just to get me to remote fishing beaches here. I would walk for the exercise, but the 30 minutes each way to get there and back would reduce my fishing time by a similar amount as I cannot spend too much time out in the sun (fair Northern skin!), and it will also save me the bus fare when going to the charity I will be volunteering at.

So I am embracing 60 (fifty-ten) not trying to avoid it any more, not least because I am now a sexagenarian – rather like the sound of that!