About celebrating what birthday???
Back in 1980, when I was a fresh-faced 24-year old newspaper reporter, I was dispatched to that most happening of Aberdeenshire towns – Inverurie – after a tip-off that a couple had been thrown out of their home for non-payment of rent and were sitting on the street with their belongings.
Ok, maybe fresh-faced is pushing it a bit – but the story was true enough. I interviewed the couple, came back to the office and wrote up my account of this pulsating, human-interest tale. In it I described the couple as “elderly”. They were in fact 51. Thankfully the deputy editor – who was well into his 50s – took his red pen through the offending word.
The reason this story springs to mind is because last week I reached one of those landmark birthdays – you know the kind that come around every 10 years, when you enter a new “decade”. Last Thursday, unbelievably, I turned 60.
Do I feel elderly? No I don’t, not in the slightest. I certainly don’t behave the way I’ve always imagined a 60-year old should. I’m still reasonably fit, live an active, outdoor life, and even attend rock concerts, for god’s sake. Whether I look 60 is for others to say. But I’m very proud of the fact I still have a full head of hair even though it is now a curious shade of silver.
Mixing with many younger people – which I do, both in and out of the workplace – means I keep a fresh perspective on life. It’s been said to me a few times this week that 60 is the new 40. To be honest that doesn’t seem too far from the truth. I really don’t feel much more than 45.
But somewhere, without question, is a spotty-faced 24-year old who knows me and thinks I am “elderly”.
It’s an oddly strange feeling because, if I don’t think I’m elderly, then why should anyone else? Even someone younger. There are obvious bullets I have to bite. My next big birthday is 70 which doesn’t sound so good. My eyesight is not quite what it was, I have to wear glasses more often than not. And I often have to ask people to repeat themselves as I reach for my ear trumpet.
Other things work perfectly well of course – although a gammy knee means I’ll never score the winning goal at Hampden Park.
But if the next 10 years are anything like my 50s – that decade I once thought was reserved for old codgers – then I am in for a great time. I accomplished and achieved a lot as a 50-something in both my personal and professional lives.
Landmark birthdays have never bothered me or scared me. Some people I know became paranoid or depressed when their 20s and 30s came to an end. I have always regarded a new decade as simply a continuation of the one that went before.
Many of my friends have been turning 60 since the beginning of the year and a lot of others will break through the barrier in the next few months. We are all Baby Boomers, that generation whose members supposedly will never grow old.
After five days I don’t feel old at all, I still have a lot to do and see and achieve. So I plan to carry on behaving more like a 40-something, staying up late, eating well, drinking better – and secretly hoping that wrinkles don’t start to appear on my neck.
For the record, I toasted my 60th with a large glass of 12-year old Lochnagar malt whisky. So that’s how the decade will continue.