First, it’s my birthday. I’ve been on Planet Earth 64 years. I’m in the age bracket that some people think is OK if I die from Covid19. “You’ve lived your life,” they say, “let us live ours.” Yes, it is true I’ve lived more than six chapters. But the deal is, I love my life. I love my grown children and grandchildren. I love working in my garden. I love teaching, writing and creating, music, art, people and traveling. My gawd, this sounds like a Match.com classified ad. The point is, I feel pretty vital. I feel pretty excited. I feel like I have much yet to learn and discover. I mean look at me, I’m blogging! I’m creating a podcast without help from the tech-savvy.
I understand that if you are in your teens or twenties or even your forties, a person who is 64 may seem like a hunched back, decrepit, ready-for-the-grave very old person. But let me tell you about us old people: We want to live as much as you do. The man who looks exactly like Mr. Burns who refuses–out of sheer defiance–not to give me eye contact on my daily walk along the bike path, this man who is battling who-knows-what and can barely walk, he also wants to live or he wouldn’t be out there making his body move. He has something to say. He has something to offer. He has wisdom. He has humor. Just like my friend who is doing her damndest to deal with a dreadful, unwanted heart condition; she has so many adventures yet to experience with her husband and family. What kind of society discounts vital people who may not appear outwardly vital?
It hurts me and other AARP “Modern Maturity” subscribers to think that after all we’ve done and continue to do, that we are expendable in the minds of some members of American society. It feels really crappy, like you want to smash their car windows, yank them them out of their diesel pickups and beat some sense into them. “You little ungrateful monster! I paid for your college!” WHACK! “Your wedding!” WHACK! “Food, shelter and clothing for 24 years!” WHACK! WHACK! How’s that for Rambo Granny, the Movie?
That just took a violent turn.
The point is, it’s my birthday and the birthday of many other people entering a vulnerable era, a time when people are relaxing shelter-in-place rules and decorum. We are happy to be alive. We want to hug. We want to celebrate. We want the protesters and complainers to know that, just like them, we all lust for normalcy. But very smart people who care about the economy and want us to be great for all Americans say we need to go slow. We need to be cautious. We need to listen to science.
I am as suspicious of Big Brother Government as much as anyone. But this is different. The medical experts, the governors who have the impossible job of doing the right thing on behalf of all citizens, have nothing to gain from being overly cautious. Being patient isn’t politically popular. I know I have a newfound respect for the politicians, both Democrat and Republican, who do the right thing when it isn’t popular. That is real leadership.
Back to my birthday. This year I am wiser and more grateful than ever. I have so much to look forward to: retirement, my grandkiddos, travel and all the cliches that this chapter of life has to offer—if I am healthy. God willing, I plan on making this next chapter the best in my life. Because life is a gift that I cherish, even if others don’t.
Yesterday, I had an omen.
Tangled on my kitchen table since January was a favorite necklace I bought right before my birthday last year. It’s a tilted sliver heart threaded on a waxy black string. For the life of me, I couldn’t get it untangled. Today, I looked at it again, sparkling in the morning sun, and decided to give it another shot. And you know what happened? I unraveled the mess. I had a weird feeling that I would, but it took the bright, morning light to illuminate the twists and turns.
I know it goes against all predictions and everything that’s happened so far in 2020, but I have a good feeling about turning 64. Something inside has been unleashed. I think it’s called hope.