Finding my way at 60.

As December 2009 ambles on, the specter of turning 60 is getting clearer and clearer. Near the end of January 2010, I will celebrate becoming a sextagenarian. Besides joining the age rank of most of my schoolmates (I was always about six months younger due to skipping a grade in elementary school), I can also raise a glass in January to celebrities like Al Pacino, Bob Dylan, Mick Jagger, Paul McCartney, Richard Gere, etc, etc. This list gets longer and longer as we baby boomers keep on keeping on.

But my survival to this age provokes much more thought than superficial age commiseration. Turning 60 will be a personal milestone that goes beyond that. "If I had known I was going to live this long, I would have taken much better care of myself!", I quip quite often. The thing is, despite not taking better care of myself, I feel pretty damn good. Despite many scary glitches along the way, I'm still here. And despite staring at that bright light on one occasion, I'm still alive, kicking, feisty, hopeful, proud, and (still) somewhat arrogant! Among other things, I've come to embrace the so-called generation gap.

During the past eleven months when someone would ask me my age, my response is always the same, "I'll be 60 next January". Not "59" or "Older than you think" or "Geeze...old!" I still haven't figured out why I'm looking forward to my birthday...I just am. You see, I've always shunned birthday celebrations. In fact, I've always dreaded my birthday by becoming "depressed" through the entire months of January and December. Part of my December doldrums also stemmed from a long time disappointment (anxiety, reverse anticipation) with the holiday season. It just ain't the same as when I was a kid!

So, with that being said...why am I looking forward to this particular passage in time? Dude, I still haven't been able to put a finger on it. I still can't elaborate as to why turning 60 is any different than turning 44, or 12, or 27. The last birthday that got me all a twitter was 16. I remember taking my driving test, getting my license, and driving my parent's car solo for the first time like it was yesterday. Memories of proudly whizzing around the streets of Canoga Park in that '62 Pontiac Bonneville, visiting buddies (who had gotten their licenses six months earlier), and jumping at any opportunity to go to the grocery store resound loudly to this day. I was excited. It was a heady time. Not at all dissimilar to how I feel now.

On January 26th, I will get a license; a license, so to speak, to live my life. A (self) permission chit to reaffirm, to confirm, to move forward, to continue, to dream, to plan, to try, and to act on my goals, plans, and aspirations.

Just Do It has already been coined, but it pretty much says it all in a nutshell. Keeping it real will be a consideration. But keeping it focused will be just as important. I have no illusions of grandeur any longer. In fact, they are not illusions at all. Just desires to be pondered with judicious enthusiasm tempered with a dash of cautious bravura.

Will I ever be self actualized? Will I have to "settle" in order to realize that? We'll see. All of what I speak coming to fruition hinges on me, myself, and I following through...one step at a time.

No illusions. Just dreams coming true. And fortunately, acquiring that "license" doesn't require passing any kind of test. It's there just for the asking.