Well, it’s almost here—the moment I’ve been dreading for at least a decade—The BIG SIX-OH. How did this happen? I was just 25 years old a few minutes ago (or so it seems). It can’t be right. I mean, can a 60-year-old woman still have the sense of humor of an immature 12-year-old boy? Well, my dad howled at childish humor until he was almost 88. So, there you have it. As I now reflect on my previous milestone birthdays, there are a few things I need to say to my younger self.
30th Birthday: Stop being depressed; you are far from old. It’s perfectly okay that you haven’t achieved certain personal and career-oriented goals yet. You are still young—just a kid, really. Take a risk on something important to you. Travel. Lighten up and enjoy life while you still can. (And please be kinder to yourself.)
40th Birthday: So, you think you’re all grown up and so much more savvy. I must laugh out loud at that. I’m so sorry, but you’ve still got quite a bit of naivety; however, you are much more poised when expressing yourself, which is still a great accomplishment. You are reflecting upon all the great times you’ve had over years but also beating yourself up for some horrendous mistakes you’ve made. I’m here to tell you that you’re going to experience plenty more of both. (And please be kinder to yourself.)
50th Birthday: “Wisdom and enlightenment at last! I vow to no longer care what people think and stop letting others take advantage of me.” Well, I hate to break it to you, but your people-pleasing behavior remains intact. Don’t worry though, once menopause hits, you’ll finally strike a balance between scaring the heck out of unreasonable people with your newly-found rage and learning to incorporate more me time into your life out of self-preservation. (And please be kinder to yourself.)
Now that I’m close to achieving the ripe old age of 60, here are some additional things I’ve learned:
I can no longer identify the age of anyone younger than myself: 30-year old adults look like teenagers, and teenagers look like they are 10. Also, it seems I’ve learned a new skill: I now excel at deluding myself into thinking others who are my age look much older than I do. (I truly hope that delusion is here to stay.)
I have always thought I looked terrible in pictures. My dad once told me, “When you look back at those pictures 10 years from now, you’ll think you were stunning.” He was right. Bright side: I can look forward to looking fantastic at 60 on my 70th birthday.
I am pleased to report that my unhealthy people-pleasing behavior has finally calmed down quite a bit. For the most part, I now do what I want to do and skip things I do not want to do. That’s huge progress for me. (However, I’m still working on being kinder to myself.)
I no longer ask if an outfit “makes me look fat.” I really don’t care. As long as I eat healthy most of the time and keep up with exercise, I’m doing okay. Besides, I don’t plan on trying out for a beauty contest—I’ll save that for 70.
I’ve definitely got a few more aches, pains, and creakiness. However, last year, I hiked up Mount Mitchell—the tallest mountain peak in North America east of the Mississippi—with ease after having ridden in a car for 12 hours and gotten no sleep. I might not have the stamina I had a few months ago, but I was a lot younger and full of life then.
Spending time with family and friends, especially your aging parents (if you are fortunate enough to still have them), should be more of a priority. Also, you need to enjoy fun hobbies to keep your mind sharp and your soul happy. I’ve been making soap for over 25 years. I also love shark tooth hunting at 2 a.m. to avoid the competition. I’ll walk 15 miles on an uneven beach in freezing cold weather in search of one good tooth. I guess being crazy doesn’t diminish with age.
My most profound enlightenment as I near age 60 is the realization that I have so much more to learn and achieve, and that will always be true. I’m hoping that the older I get, the better I’ll become. If so, by the time I reach 100 years old, I just might be close to perfection! One can only hope.
by Stephanie Faro 
by Kara Stevens 
by Lauren Dunn 
