On my 60th birthday my husband took me to a resort on an island. We ate well, slept long and hard and walked along a shoreside path early in the morning.
I spent several hours in the resort's spa, getting massaged and buffed and polished to a fine sheen. After a late lunch I crawled into bed and slept deeply, dreaming of holding the infant that was once me and hearing the words, "I must protect her."
There was another dream, too, the type of dream we writers often have, in which a story unfold as we watch. In my dream, a young wife and mother circa 1950 was faced with a move from her humble Cape Cod house, where she cooked and sewed and played with her baby girl, to a more comfortable one-story brick home in a slightly nicer neighborhood as a result of her husband's new job.
That the dream dealt with transition was surely no coincidence. The woman's reluctance to move on was strong and heart-breaking. She was not my mother, though she was of my mother's generation, but her anguish reminded me of the difficult time my mother is having adjusting to life in an assisted living facility. Although my sister and I know she is safe and cared for there, her pain ("Why can't I go home?") tears at us.
Turning 50 was no trauma for me, as it ushered in the start of an exciting new decade of travel and fun, along with some interesting career and health challenges. Turning 60 was apparently much more difficult, at least when my subconscious took over.
I think it was Gloria Steinem who said upon turning 40, "This is what 40 looks like."
I will have to reinvent what 60 looks like for me. I am not certain yet. I know that it will mark a return to simplicity in all that I do, from simple meals to simple lifestyle changes. I'm hiring a personal trainer, learning to eat lighter, and spending more time in contemplation.
One thing it has taken me 60 years to learn: Life is best lived and appreciated when it is pared down, simple.
Welcome again to my humble little cafe.
I spent several hours in the resort's spa, getting massaged and buffed and polished to a fine sheen. After a late lunch I crawled into bed and slept deeply, dreaming of holding the infant that was once me and hearing the words, "I must protect her."
There was another dream, too, the type of dream we writers often have, in which a story unfold as we watch. In my dream, a young wife and mother circa 1950 was faced with a move from her humble Cape Cod house, where she cooked and sewed and played with her baby girl, to a more comfortable one-story brick home in a slightly nicer neighborhood as a result of her husband's new job.
That the dream dealt with transition was surely no coincidence. The woman's reluctance to move on was strong and heart-breaking. She was not my mother, though she was of my mother's generation, but her anguish reminded me of the difficult time my mother is having adjusting to life in an assisted living facility. Although my sister and I know she is safe and cared for there, her pain ("Why can't I go home?") tears at us.
Turning 50 was no trauma for me, as it ushered in the start of an exciting new decade of travel and fun, along with some interesting career and health challenges. Turning 60 was apparently much more difficult, at least when my subconscious took over.
I think it was Gloria Steinem who said upon turning 40, "This is what 40 looks like."
I will have to reinvent what 60 looks like for me. I am not certain yet. I know that it will mark a return to simplicity in all that I do, from simple meals to simple lifestyle changes. I'm hiring a personal trainer, learning to eat lighter, and spending more time in contemplation.
One thing it has taken me 60 years to learn: Life is best lived and appreciated when it is pared down, simple.
Welcome again to my humble little cafe.
What a beautiful post. I have a friend turning 60 in a few months and I think he feels similarly, I am trying to learn some of those life lessons ahead of time. At 41 I am already trying to live a more simplistic life, I just don't think that can always be a reality :-)
ReplyDeleteAndi, it is challenging to live a simple life if you are accustomed to the trappings of Real Life. My life and my job offer many sidetracks.
ReplyDeleteOnce I believed that possessions would make me happy. It took a two week stay in a Paris apartment with a tiny kitchen to make me understand I could do more with less. Oh, the meals we prepared! But that is the subject of another post.
Thank you, Andi, for visiting.