SEVEN ZERO

I turned 70 in June and was lucky enough to spend it with the guy who continually makes me incredibly happy, in a part of France – Provence – that has been on my bucket list for 20+ years. It was a fabulous trip, and everything that I envisioned my monumental birthday celebration would/should be.

Here’s the thing that struck me the most about this recent birthday.

I was fine turning 60 and fine turning 65. Honestly though, 70 is challenging for me.

For the past year, going from 69 to 70 has been on my mind. A lot.

As my friend Debbie says, ‘The runway is a hell of a lot shorter now’.

That right there, my friends, is damn sobering. I’m more than a little creeped out about the whole idea that the runway is shorter. Instead of 50 more years, or even 40, I’ll hopefully have 25-30 (given my – fingers crossed – family history of longevity).

I KNOW how fast the last 30 have flown by. It’s like I blinked, and here I am at 70. How the hell did I get here so fast?

I don’t really feel 70 (okay, yes, some days I sort of do), I’m told I don’t look 70 (thank you!), and yet … there’s that damn runway staring back at me.

The other thing that I’m finding more than a little disconcerting? Seeing in the news that someone famous has recently died – and when I see their age – it’s so much closer to me than ever before. The other day John mentioned that George Foreman died. In my head I thought Oh, gosh! I didn’t realize he was that old. Then John says, “He was 76.”

Cue the music. Carmina Burana’s O Fortuna comes to mind. (If you know it, you get it. If not, listen here.)

➡️(SIDENOTE: I wrote the above draft shortly after we returned from France. And then I left it alone because I wasn’t sure where I was going with all of my thoughts.)

So now here we are today: 90 days after I wrote the first bit above. All joking and dire music aside … I’m beginning to realize that being 70 is actually less scary than I thought - even though it's a heck of a big number.

I know no matter how long the rest of the runway is, it doesn’t matter.

• I have a husband/spouse/partner/sidekick who loves me unconditionally, quirks and all. He is absolutely, positively, without a sliver of doubt, my person.  

• I am loved by, and I love in return, a big, wonderful family. They’re the best! Each and every one of them. My kids. Their spouses. Grandlittles. Siblings & spouses. Nieces and nephews. They make every day wonderful. I know without a doubt that if I needed any one of them, they’d be right by my side in a heartbeat.

• I have a giant circle of lovely and dear friends; they add all kinds of joy to my life.

• I have grandlittles who, when they run to greet me, melt my heart with their big grins and bright happy eyes. No matter how goofy their Grammy is, they want to hold my hand and they still love my hugs. (Here's hoping that's always the case no matter how old they, and I, get.)

I guess at the end of every day? Those things right there?

Worth all 70 years.