Aunt Nancy in good times
This is not what I expected as I rounded the corner for my final run at 60. Maybe I should have. These years that end in zero have tended to make a big splash.
The year I turned 20, I sat in a journalism class at Samford University thinking about the young man who was stalking me and the college administration that was disbanding the journalism department because the campus newspaper had tried to report news the administration didn’t want reported. It came to me that moving to a new state and a new college while only 20 credits away from graduating was my next best step. Within two months, I had moved, dragging my best friend with me and changing the course of our lives.
The year I turned 30 was the year I bought my first house, telling myself my future was settled despite how deeply unsettled I was in my spirit. It took two more years for my life to catch up to my spirit and launch the next life makeover.
The day I turned 40, my mother was admitted to the hospital for the final time. When she was released, she came to stay with me until she died six weeks later in a tiny bedroom down the hall from my office.
Then there was 50. Most of what happened isn’t my story to tell; it was a year of mental illness and divorce.
So why have I been expecting something less than fireworks as I approached this birthday ending in zero?
I’ve been preparing for this milestone birthday for a year now, looking forward to it as a time of expanding possibilities, new adventures.
And now for reality. The year promises to be my year of downward mobility. Maybe it will be a year of austerity that will land me on some sunnier shore at 61, debt-free, nest lined. Or maybe it will be the start of a long slide into poverty that I will share with many of all ages and backgrounds in this post-prosperity era. I remember helping Aunt Nancy pack up and move from the roomy brick ranch she had shared with her husband before his death. Her resources had dwindled and she had no choice but to walk away from the life she loved. She started in a three-room senior apartment. From there, she went into a shared room in a Huntersville nursing home. I wonder if she ever stopped thinking of her moves as a temporary and reversible adjustment.
My first impulse is to hide what is happening. Then I woke up a few days ago at 3:30, realizing I’ve been elected to tell this story as it is playing out.
Sixty will be momentous, just not in the ways I’ve tried to create. No matter how it plays out, even if my economic opportunity shrinks in ways I never imagined, I intend to make 60 big. Stay tuned. I’m going to make a little racket along the way. I will not go gentle.
Love.
I think I hear you and if I do, I’m with you. Life has gotten so very much more insecure recently and it isn’t just a factor of aging. Tell you story. We’ll be here to cheer you on.
Thanks for sharing this, and although I’m not quite sure what it all means in literal terms, I can appreciate how it’s affecting your soul. Chin up.
We love you Peg and don’t ever think you have to ride alone. We will be with you and if you ever need an ear to bend or someone to buy you a cup of coffee I am here.
Sounds as if you are preparing for a title bout with 60. Even though I am not looking forward to it,(in five years). I am looking at it, and in some ways, with anticipation, a goal. For me, 60 will mean that retirement is close, and I will be free to do the things that I want to do. Would like to be there to help you celebrate it.
Thanks for sharing Peg. Your optimism and warming spirit will get you through any hurdles—just as they did with the adversities you experienced in your other decades. Stay positive, and most of all, trust that God has a plan for all of us.
Thank you for sharing your journey. I have no doubt that you will make a little noise as you age. You should. You have learned so much. Remember that many will live much longer than they realize and in those years you can do more with your writing than you realize. This posting is just the beginning. Carry on. You do great things. Now make them your things.
I love you, Peg! This blog entry is really humbling, for me. I love that you led us back to Dylan Thomas! Thank you!
Sister Peg, I knew you would find a mental way to make everything matter, that you would come to terms, on your terms, with everything. I feel like we are all, your many friends and you, walking down a long, winding path, in which you travel, like Dorothy in the heart of the pack. You we listen to. You we choose to talk to. So we listen for what you will tell us. Meanwhile, I am available for any proactive covert maneuvers. Not going gentle here either.
All love, all good things your destiny.e