In less than 24 hours, I’ll be 60 years old.

How the hell did that happen?

It feels like just a few years ago, I was 16, 20, 24, 33, 47….55….and now, all of a sudden, I can almost see the light at the end of the retirement tunnel.

That always seemed so far away.

How the hell did I get here?

I have vague and scattered memories of childhood celebrations—cupcakes for the class, and those hard candy sticks that are almost like a lollipop shaped like a fat pencil—the ones you get in the old-timey stores that come in flavors like watermelon and cherry and blueberry, the ones that leave your lips and tongue hideous shades of whatever flavor you’ve just consumed, the ones you held in your mouth and worked into a point.  You always had to bring enough to share with everyone in the class. 

Actual parties? I don’t remember any. And I don’t really recall any of the teen years parties, which would have more than likely been with my friends or the boyfriend (“the” because I only had one in high school).

I do remember I spent my 20^th birthday with a Turkish man in New York City.  I had just moved into the city, into my first home-away-from-home apartment.  I was sorting through boxes and I recall it was a beautiful hot sunny day (I just looked it up it was a Sunday, as I thought; I still remember it had that lazy kind of Sunday feel to it).

Anyway, the man was my neighbor. He was old, by my standards–probably 30 or even 35(!), and very good looking in a dark, broody, butterflies-in-the-stomach sort of way–dark hair and eyes, smooth, olive-coloured skin, tall and trim…he was one of those guys that when he looked at you, he really looked at you–maybe looked into you, if that’s possible.

My apartment was on the top floor of the building, the sixth. It was an L-shaped studio–one big room with a little dog leg for the bed, at the corner of the block of the building that looked into an inner courtyard, and his was on the corner to the left of mine. He had a small balcony and was a smoker (so was I at the time), and so I caught glimpses of him throughout the morning. My little flat had no outdoor space, but it came with a full bank of windows and at one point he was outside having a cigarette and when i moved past the windows. I looked up and caught his eye.

He was wearing a crisp white Oxford shirt, open at the collar and out of his pants, sleeves rolled to just below the elbows–you know the look. A pair of faded jeans that fit just right, and he was barefoot; he looked as though he had just come out of the shower, his black hair falling in loose damp curls around his face.

Turned out he was a Middle Eastern Studies professor from NYU. He offered to show me the campus, and at that point looking for any excuse to escape the unpacking and, well, to wander the village with this man, I quickly agreed. We met in the lobby and walked together down to the end of Fifth Avenue, where we strolled under the arch in Washington Square Park, making idle conversation along the way as he pointed out some of his favorite places to eat, to drink, to read–and I tried to picture him doing all of those things as he talked.

As we got to the east side of the park, he took my arm and gently led me to a small building nestled behind the quiet tree lined street (remember, this was early summer and a Sunday so the usual student traffic was virtually nonexistent).

I can’t remember exactly where or what it was (maybe someone reading this can tell me if they haven’t torn it down and put up a tower–I hear NYU is taking over down there), but the entryway was covered in mosaic tiles–cobalt blues and stark whites and deep greens and gold in intricate patterns, and it was cool and dark and quiet and beautiful like nothing I’d ever seen. After we talked in the shadowy entryway–for a long time as I recall–he took me to a small quiet coffee shop on a side street where he bought me a Turkish coffee…

And that was it. We walked back and he went his way and I went mine. I don’t know that I ever saw him again after that.

I bet you thought this was going somewhere deeper, more intense, more… something, didn’t you? Sorry to disappoint! But not a bad adventure for my first weekend as a New Yorker.

Anyway… I digress, yet again.

I don’t remember what I was doing when I turned 30, but I’m sure it didn’t worry me. I wasn’t a mom yet, I was relatively newly married, I’m pretty sure I was employed at the time, and I’m guessing life was pretty good (don’t get me wrong life is still pretty good–actually, better than good).

When I turned 40 I remember that I was nervous that my then-husband and current son were planning something big to mark the date, so when they picked me up from work that day, I told him I had changed my mind about the restaurant we were going to. I guess I thought they might have some sort of plot to throw a surprise party. Silly me—my son was only 7 and my husband, well… It wasn’t about me, I guess. Despite the fact that I don’t like to make a big deal about my birthdays, I was a little disappointed… Perhaps that it only meant something to me.

50 was the start of a new era.  I had set a couple of goals (not like my friend Kim, who struck an ambitious list of 50 things to do before she turned 50–she’s close to completing the list and I have no doubt she will get it done). One was to see all 50 states–and I did that. Another was embarrassingly material and selfish, and it involved a vehicle. We’ll check that one off and not say anything more about that. There were a couple of others I can’t recall but I’m fairy certain I hit the marks on those too–they must not have been very ambitious or terribly difficult to attain.

Ten years ago, social media was just becoming popular and I reconnected through it with some of my childhood friends.  Over the course of that year, there were monthly birthday celebrations—different people each time, but a core group in any case—and I think I managed to get to two or three that year. I know I was there for the June celebration, as I have a photo of us at a winery.

That started our connection to each other, and I know the group at home gets together fairly often (I’m sure they see each other around town too—it’s not that big a place), and this year I’ve already been to two of the get togethers (they’re very kind, and if I give them enough warning, they plan the event for when I’m there). Hats off to you and much appreciated, chicas!

So….now I’m about to be 60.  I’m heading out for a trip on my own, to a place I’ve never been and will write about another time, and will end up at the June celebration a little later in the month.  While I’m not happy about this milestone, I really can’t wait to see them all. Maybe it’s because we’re in this together, but I think it’s more about who they are.

What are my resolutions for the next decade?

I am going to get healthy.  I’ve put on some weight and now it’s not about appearance; it’s about health.

2024 note: just came from probably my best adult physical ever; yes, I still need to lose a few pounds, but I’ve already gone done some this year and all tests were just great. All the more reason to get out and see the world. NOW.

I am going to travel. I’m going to travel to the places I want to go that take a level of wellness—Machu Picchu for example, before my knees and/or lungs give out. Some more exotic places that will take a level of stamina, a level of both physical and mental strength, and a spirit for crazy adventure—India, Russia, Antarctica, South Africa, Turkey, perhaps back to Cuba. Some places where I have friends who can show me the sights—Australia and New Zealand, Egypt, the Netherlands.  Some places that might not exist in another decade—the Seychelles and Maldives, some low-lying Caribbean islands. Some places alone, and others with friends or in a group. 

And dammit, I’m going back to China and this time I will climb that damn wall.

I’m going to build my exit strategy—not the final exit, just the one into retirement, although no doubt I’ll think more about the other one too from time to time.  But at this point, I can’t see that happening until the other end of this decade at the earliest. It’s not just the financial concern; it’s health and wellness, it’s not being bored.

And dammit, I’m going to write a book—at least one.  Last year, after my separation (actually I guess it’s almost been two years now—my, how time flies when you let it), I started to write.  And I started to get ideas. Now I just have to figure out how to put them down on paper. That’s next.

I want to start to more seriously volunteer.  Not sure where, not sure what, but I’m sure there’s something I can do that will be useful.

Finally, I’m going to celebrate my friendships every chance I get and never take them for granted.

I was in a store the other day buying a shirt and the girl behind the counter asked me if I was eligible for the senior’s discount (very diplomatic of her, I would say). Taking only a fraction of a second more than I normally would, I first thought, really?! But what came out of my mouth was more of a “what-the-hell-yes”. 

Because what the hell, and why the hell not?

So, I guess this is it.  Here I go–wish me luck!

2024 note: It actually looks like I’m doing what I set out to do. Machu Pichu, yes. Iceland, check. Japan, indeed. And yes to the Netherlands, Portugal and Ireland too. All proceeding as it should–Except for the return to the Wall, so far.