Two days ago, I turned sixty-five. If you know me or have read my book, you’re aware that I’m the person who panicked at the prospect of my fortieth birthday. I had a mid-life crisis that lasted for years and wrote a musical comedy about my angst. So how am I handling my new senior status?

Quite well, thank you.

Not a kid anymore ...

I should establish that I’ve been lucky, health-wise. Sixty-five-year-olds who suffer from severe arthritis, balky hearts, or dementia surely don’t feel the way I do. I’m a breast cancer survivor, but I’m ten years out. I have Type 2 diabetes, but after losing fifty pounds, I can control it with food choices and exercise. I weigh only a few pounds more than I did in high school, and when I work out, I occasionally feel that sweet sense of connection that I did playing sports as a teen. I still feel good about my body, and if I take care of it, it should last a while.

I used to say I only wanted to hear the word “senior” if it was followed by the word “discount.” Some senior discounts start at fifty-five, sixty… now I get ‘em all. Even Medicare, the ultimate senior discount.

I confess, I use my advanced age to get out of doing things I don’t want to do. I honestly don’t have the physical stamina I used to, but sometimes I simply take advantage. Why do heavy lifting—literal or figurative—if there’s someone willing to help the gray-haired lady?

A corollary, and an important one: Women of my generation have a hard time saying “no.” We were the ones who felt compelled to be supermoms, combining marriage, kids, and a career. Sometimes we ended up feeling trapped. Now, I use my age as an excuse to step away from onerous responsibilities. “Been there, done that. Now it’s someone else’s turn.”

Photo courtesy of C. Linda Dowell

Some of my friends have retired, so we have time to travel together or reconnect on the Internet. I use Facebook for book marketing, and I’ve become reacquainted with several classmates through that site. It’s fun to comment on their posts and see photos of their travels and their grandchildren. I’m devoted to the Internet, and if age eventually robs me of mobility, I’ll diligently use the ‘Net to stay in touch.

With age, I’ve gained perspective. I’m not going to claim that I never sweat the small stuff, but I believe I have a better feel for what’s important and what’s not. I’ve seen enough that fewer events surprise me, and I think that’s a good thing.

At sixty-five, I still have adventures. Becoming a first-time author at sixty-three was an adventure, and so is marketing my book. I’ve had author signings and a speaking engagement this year. Next week I’ll attempt a festival vendor booth and a radio interview. I learn something new every week.

So far, sixty-five doesn’t seem so bad. Happy Birthday to me.