Years ago -- before motherhood, mother-in-law-hood, grandmother-hood -- I had a colleague who relished life. When she retired from teaching, she learned to snow ski and ride on the back of a motorcycle. When she became a widow, she traveled the world. Now, at 93, she still plays bridge, drives her own car, and keeps up with her friends on email. That's who I want to be when I hit 93.
The Beatles once sang, "Will you still love me when I'm 64?" Of course, when I heard that song, I wasn't yet 20, and 64 sounded toothless, hopelessly out-of-date, possibly decrepit. Now I know better. Sixty is just on the cusp of life. There's plenty to do: travel with my husband; attempt to paint as well as my mother does; get (more) fit; learn to make pasta from my mother-in-law; finish War and Peace and read all those other books on my list; take (more) pictures of our first granddaughter; and maybe learn French and Italian. There's plenty of time...
In my way of thinking, if "50 is the new 30," then 90 will be what 60 used to be. I plan to be ready when that time comes.
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