Reflections on Turning 60
On July 5 of this year, Carolyn,
Jonathon, Robert and I climbed Mt. Magnificent.
On the climb, Carolyn pointed out that I would be turning 60 in
September. She asked, “What do you want
to do for your birthday?” Without giving
it much thought, I replied that I wanted to climb Mt. Magnificent. She has not let me forget it. Though I have a million end-of-summer things
to get accomplished before it gets cold, she reminded me again yesterday and I
agreed to go today.
We started the hike at about noon
on what seemed like, at the time, a nice September day. I thought we only had about 3 hours so we
hurried along. When she told me that her
husband would pick up the kids, I suggested that we climb the next mountain up
the valley. From where we were standing
at the base of Mt. Magnificent, it looked like only a hop, skip, and a
jump. We walked along Meadow Creek for
another mile or so and then began to climb up.
Steeply up. I have never seen so
many blueberries, ripe and with no leaves on the bushes. I would take a handful every time I stopped,
and the berries were there every time I stopped. The incline continued to increase as we
neared the top, and the rocks grew more slippery. I reached the summit 10 minutes or so before
she did, and the clouds were rolling in, the wind blowing. By the time she climbed up to the last
false-summit it was 7 minutes after 3 and I hurried her along to the peak, and
then back. The clouds were like pea soup
by that time and we could just see our way down. We hadn’t been descending for 5 minutes when
Carolyn spied the first snowflake, and it snowed on us the rest of the way
home. Between skree-surfing and hopping
between the tufts of vegetation, we got back on the trail and reached home a
few minutes after 5.
I’m one of the last of the high
school class of 1972 to turn 60, I guess.
My birthday was late in the year and I remember when I started school I
was younger than almost everyone else.
Then it was uncomfortable. I’m OK
with it now. Younger sounds kind of good
in fact.
There is an uncertain feeling about
completing the sixth decade of life, and even more ominously, beginning the
seventh. Turning 30 didn’t seem like too
much of a change. 40 wasn’t too
psyche-shattering, and 50 was OK. 60…..well…..as
a young man that seemed almost unreachable.
People were supposed to retire at 65 and die shortly after. I watch my own parents who are now in their
80s and realize that they were quite active and happy in their 60s and I have
resolved to be also.
My own children are grown and gone,
and most of their children have already been born. My oldest grandchild is 13, and the other 21
trickle down from there. I echo what has been said by many others: Grandchildren are the best! You can spoil them until you get tired of them
or they get tired of you and then send them home with their parents. I am blessed to have more than half of mine
living close by and the others migrate home on a more-or-less frequent
basis. I love all of them, and just as
importantly, I like all of them. Their
parents must be doing something right.
One of my
biggest pleasures is watching how my children get along and interact. Despite their sometimes combative actions in
their teenage years, now they enjoy each other’s company are friends. That brings peace and joy to my heart and
soul as we will all be saddled together for eternity. That their children are best friends with
each other is just as gratifying. They
play together so well that they seem to be a matched set. Seldom is there any bickering or fighting,
except within their immediate families, and I guess that is pretty normal.
The teens
and early 20s were neurotically concerned with education and career and
beginning a family. The 30s and 40s were
about career advancement and watching the family grow. The 50s about preparing for retirement and
watching the grandchildren come along.
The 60s seem to be about winding down a career, worrying about retirement
provisions and continuing to see the progeny prosper, but the worries of being
mortal don’t go away, despite the successes of the past. “Did I put away enough for retirement? Will my body keep working or will my health
deteriorate soon? Will my loved ones be
happy and healthy and fulfilled? Will my
business keep running and my employees remain happy?” Looking back, life seems
to have been pretty smooth, but there was adequate worry and stress in each
stage to take a little of the fun out of living.
I was so fortunate
to have met the woman of my dreams when I was 20. While we haven’t always agreed on everything,
we have made a good and lasting companionship sewn together with love and
respect and commitment. I can see no
advantage at all of waiting for marriage.
The love and support we gain from each other allows us to overcome the
uncertainties of life and not only celebrate, but create it’s victories.
Faith in
God and Jesus Christ, and service to our fellow men are part of what gives life
purpose. Having the biggest box of toys
when we die won’t be very fulfilling, I’m afraid. And the closer I come to the end of
mortality, the more the two rules I have adopted in the last two decades of my
life seem to speak surely: 1. Don’t
sweat the small stuff. 2. It’s all small stuff.
For those
of you with a metaphorical bent, maybe you can appreciate the hike I began with
in another context. The struggle in life
is uphill, and sometimes is difficult.
Pause to enjoy the blueberries along the way. If you miss them, you will be missing out on
some of the greatest pleasures of life on this earth. The clouds will roll in and confuse your
sense of direction; the snow and the wind will deprive you of your
sensibilities from time to time. Remember to listen to the Supreme Guide and
His Spirit who will see you safely home.
And if you can do these things, joy will be your reward.
