Sixty. The New Thirty?

"They say seventy is the new forty," a California health plan's radio commercial begins its pitch. Naturally, this got me thinking ... then sixty must be the new thirty.

I'm a sixty-something -- 62-1/2 precisely -- navigating a brand-new path. And thinking about it, What To Expect When You're Expecting and What to Expect in the First Year are best sellers. So couldn't we have someone please write What to Expect in the Sixtieth Year and Beyond. H e l l o! Of course, I know with some certainty that some Boomer will get the best-selling word out...somehow. It's early yet. It was only last week when it hit me that I'm a sexagenarian, a person between the ages of 60 and 70. The term made me laugh. I wonder: what do they call people in their fifties? I'll tell you when I find out.

Under the premise that sixty is the new thirty, I reflected on life in my thirties. I was a married, working mother of two. I hardly remember anything except self-doubt, fatigue, confusion about women's lib issues; never having enough time for anything. OK! I remember my children's births of course and some other personal events. And I vaguely remember the odd/even gas lines, The Hite Report, leisure suits, Jimmy Carter and pet rocks, and not necessarily in that order. Oh, and I believe bread cost 24 cents a loaf.

For working mothers, I recall the child care component was new and challenging, and Barbara Walter's then ground-breaking show on the pros and cons of daycare was downright discouraging. Dr. Laura wouldn't have approved of my thirst for going to work, and in her ever-so-humble-opinion she'd readily tell me I wasn't "my kids' mom." Naturally, this leads me to ask: just who was my kids' mom, Dr. Laura? But that's a whole other story. For sure I was not going to be June Cleaver. And I wasn't aiming to be the single-no kids-perpetually-loved That Girl.

So I ask you: Where were the role models for someone like me? I vividly remember my husband (bless his heart) giving me a book entitled Having It All -- meaning the family, the career, the social life. Laugh Out Loud! I didn't know whether to be grateful or resentful for the gift. I instinctively knew that having it all was and continues to be impossible.

During my thirties, self-help and/or parenting books were slim pickings. The Womanly Art of Breastfeeding title seemed ancient even then. We were still waiting for Stephen Covey to give us the 7 Habits and make us effective people. By 1976 we'd been introduced to Dr. Wayne Dyer's Erroneous Zones. I recall having a few of those! Of course with two children eighteen months apart, I was lucky to go to the bathroom by myself and/or read anything, much less work on those Zones. Looking back, I'd say the What to Expect series would have definitely gotten my attention and been of assistance. And I suspect I would have learned that everything was totally normal -- whatever normal is - and somehow my children would survive my mothering without appropriate self help books and/or Dr. Laura. They have!

So here I am on my sixty-something journey which, at the moment, appears (astonishingly) to be without a grand roadmap, just as my 30-something path had been. Sure, I've learned a few things -- haven't we all? -- and I don't mean about which pharmaceuticals may have certain side effects. And I'm thinking long hair is no longer young hair the way short hair definitely was old hair a few decades ago. And I know for sure that the current sixty doesn't in any way look like my grandmother's sixty.

I've learned that life is unpredictable because it happens while we're making other plans, and that once you're a pickle, you'll never be a cucumber again. Now, I wonder how June Cleaver, Ozzie and Harriet, and the-Father who-knew-Best would have shown up all these years later. Surely, June Cleaver would be calling for take-out at least once a week; or Ward would take the boys for fast food. No? Would Ward experience a mid-life crisis? With or without bimbo eruption? Maybe Beaver grew up to be an addict of some sort, and Wally would've ended up in a 12 step program for co-dependents, and everyone's transformative journey could have begun. Oh, and would the ever brown-nosing weasel Eddie Haskell be all over the media, grinning while pleading "not guilty" to some serious white collar crime? As I'm thinking about it, Ozzie may just have given up on the cardigans. What do you think? Well, I think the ratings wouldn't keep up, but it's fun to think about.

Now here's what's going on in this sixty-something's life. No facelifts, tummy tucks, or Botox for me. Unlike Nora Ephron, I don't feel bad about my neck...yet! I'm delighted not to have blue/grey hair! I still suffer from the occasional self-doubt, have a workable spiritual orientation, believe in an after-life, and it's doubtful that my financial planning would win a professional's approval. I am the married mother of two, mother-in-law of two, grandmother of one, and the child of two almost nonagenarians (90-year-olds). I'm the guts of the proverbial sandwich, mostly self-contained, sometimes spilling over on the sides. I live in Santa Barbara a.k.a Paradise. I am definitely in denial about retirement, yet actively planning for the next thirty years. I so cherish my family and my relationships, place value on service, love to learn and share what I've learned. I'm often thrilled by my very full plate. Except when I'm not. I pray for grace and ease on the journey. Of course, I'm always on the search for a good haircut and fabulous, well fitting shoes.

Author's bio: Alexa Pierce holds an MA in Spiritual Psychology. She lives in Santa Barbara, CA, and welcomes your email at alexapierce@aol.com.

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