Turning Seventy

"Wake up to find out that you are the eyes of the world" --The Grateful Dead

morning light

Today marks the 70^th anniversary of my birth. When I think about what life was like in the 1950s, well yes, I’ve been around a while. But when I think of what my understanding of age 70 was when I was much younger, oh my god, how can I be that age?! People like saying it’s just a number and what matters is how we feel. There is some truth to all of that. I am fortunate to not feel much different than I did when I turned sixty. But sixty does feel like quite a while ago. For one thing, my daughter Colleen was still alive. That was a very different era in my life.

Lots can change over the course of a decade. It’s hard to imagine that in ten years I will say that I feel the same as I did on my 70^th birthday. But what does that have to do with today? Not much. Today I feel lucky to be alive. Many people don’t reach seventy. I feel fortunate to be able-bodied and without chronic illness. I am grateful to be retired from my career with adequate financial resources.

What do I hope for in my seventies? A grandchild would be nice. (Sorry, Caitlin, if you are reading. But you already know that I hope for a grandchild.) Some positive change in this country and in the world would be wonderful. These dreams are out of my control, but holding hope is a good coping mechanism.

Each year, around the first of January, a good friend and I write and share with each other our intentions for the upcoming year. We call them intentions rather than resolutions because of the softer connotation. As when we went to confession as young Catholics, we sometimes repeat what we’ve said before. We are works in progress, and the concept of a resolution carries the strong possibility of failure. We like the idea of continuing to work on our intentions, even if it is not the first year for some of them.

What will I write this year? I am not quite ready to think about that. Today, I will sit in gratitude for my health and good fortune. Tomorrow (or the next day) I will think about how I can be a better person.

Today I will listen and dance to my favorite Grateful Dead song, Eyes of the World. I have been doing this every year on my birthday for half a century. I play the Englishtown concert version. It is, arguably, their best rendition of the song, and then there is the fact that I was there and can attest to their amazing performance on that day in 1977. Time is weird. I mean 1977 feels like yesterday when I remember that concert. And yet, that year was two-thirds of my life ago. We have all noticed this thing about time in our own lives. And memories. Some (like that concert for me) are so vivid, or shall I say that they do “not fade away”? (See what happens when I mention my favorite band?) Perhaps I am just rambling now, but I like the consistency of this small, private birthday tradition of mine. Do you have a private way of celebrating your life each year? I would love to read what it is in a comment below.