Last year I turned sixty-one.
My husband, Warren, has been with me for three and a half decades, and he is two and a half years older. This has meant I’ve had insight into how I’ll view life in coming years, no matter what age I am. At times I haven’t understood his point of view, but whenever I’ve caught up to a particular birthday, I had fresh perspective on where his mind was. Then I was battling to understand his new attitude, knowing it would be years before it made sense.
We were lucky. We both retired in our 50s.
But I never realised how lucky we were until I reached the age I am now. I’m slowing down more than I imagined. Even at 60, I thought it weird Warren felt cold at night. I was swimming in an outdoor pool even in winter, so I thought I was better equipped for night time temperatures, wearing less than my hubby for evening television viewing.
During winter this year, I found I’d get goosebumps forty minutes into my swim. It used to annoy me that Warren would close the windows at home, limiting the airflow. Now I also close windows and wear something warmer, even during the cool summer evenings.
We have both exercised since our thirties.
Yet two years ago we both stopped going to Zumba due to his torn meniscus and the fissure I have in my right knee. Several months ago I found I could no longer get off the floor unless I grabbed onto something. I suspected I had a fissure in my left knee which has now been medically confirmed.
We still exercise, visiting our over 50s gym regularly before spending an hour doing laps in the pool. But when I do, I fall asleep if I read that afternoon. The Nanna nap has become my friend.
Then there’s the old man attitude.
I noticed Warren had it at 59, then grew out of it. I did the same. We both had a short fuse which has since subsided, but does come out now and again when necessary.
He got to the ‘it’s not our problem’ stage before me, and when I got there, it was one of the most freeing things about ageing. I realised you can’t save everybody, and even though most of us learn this early in life, the relevance of it keeps becoming clearer. We have each other to take care of, and anyone else who will benefit from being helped. It’s about paying it forward, and encouraging others to do the same. But we’re better at recognising who will move forward with assistance and who won’t.
Being older has changed my writing schedule.
I planned to be a novelist long before I retired, getting published more than a decade before my work life ended.
Now that I’m in my early 60s, I’ve slowed down my writing output. I used to take three years to write a novel (although recently I wrote one in four months). This year I’m further developing a five year old project with my writing group. Another completed project has been submitted to various publishers and agents, and even though it hasn’t found a home yet, that doesn’t worry me as much as it would have when I was younger.
I’m still keen to get new work out there, but I’m fine with taking a back seat sometimes to just enjoy life.
UPDATE: Since I wrote this blog I ended up in ICU for two days, which now means when I join conversations with people my age about what medications we are on, I can no longer claim I’m on none.
kevin klehr 