If someone asked me yesterday if I’d ever been to Sacramento, the capital of California, I would’ve said no.
But I was wrong. My high school friend Susan and I took our 11-year old sons on an epic Northern California road trip in the summer of 2012 and stopped at the famous Squeeze Burger (formerly Squeeze Inn) in Sacramento. We were on our way to her house in Lake Tahoe from Oakland.
Upon further research, I found pictures of the famous cheese-skirted burgers online, which look familiar.
We were in the second Sacramento location (now closed), which featured the original tiny Sacramento storefront as a booth in the restaurant. Perfect for two boys traveling with their moms.
This is why pictures matter people. By the time you hit 60, you will not remember half the stuff you did in your life.
I think it is the nature of things for parents to care more about their children than vice versa.
Our children love us, but not how we love them. Oh how we love them. If they are struggling, sick or unhappy, it can be hard to function ourselves. If your parents live to be very old, you will be old too. You may be dealing with old people problems like osteoarthritis and macular degeneration at the same time as your parents. In some cases, very old parents outlive one or more of their children, which is obviously terrible for the parents. Nobody should have to bury a child. Ever.
But here’s what I think I want to say. You don’t owe your very old parents a myth of your own happy carefree existence. You’re old too. And things have gotten worse. The country has gotten worse.
I’m definitely not saying you should call up your very old parents and unload your problems on them. (If you’re still doing that at age 60+, you may have Peter Pan Syndrome.) I’m saying that if they call you a lot (and are of sound mind), it’s OK to be yourself. You don’t have to make up cheerful bullshit all the time just to keep them happy. Because that’s exhausting. And you’re old too.
On the flip side, if you’re having a good day and feel like chatting, call your mom. Nobody’s ever gonna love you like she does.
Predictably, I was a fan of Sex and the City and have eagerly watched all three seasons of the reboot—And Just Like That. (I saw both of the Sex and the City movies too.) We now know that this will be the final season of And Just Like That, so fans are getting ready to bid goodbye to Carrie Bradshaw forever.
My obvious connection to the show has been that I am the same generation as the main characters. Sarah Jessica Parker and Kristin Davis are my age exactly—sixty. They are among the group of actresses born in 1965 that I tend to keep tabs on.
I know there are plenty of haters out there, based on very legitimate criticisms of the show, but for me Sex and the City was like an alternate reality. By the time the show first aired in 1998, I was married with a three-year old, living in a somewhat dilapidated antique house in suburbia. What if I hadn’t gone that route? What if I had had the gumption to leave Boston for the real city in my twenties, like several of my friends? Would I be dashing around Manhattan in a tulle skirt, going to art openings and brunch?
The 60-year old versions of the characters in the reboot, still living in Manhattan in fabulous clothes, have been dealing with some relatable GenX problems from bouts of vertigo to ageism at work. Still, they’ve kept it mostly light and escapist. Even when Carrie’s husband (Mr. Big) drops dead in the shower, I wasn’t exactly heartbroken. The female friendships are still central. New York City is still central.
We’ll see what the final two episodes bring. How will my life in an alternate universe turn out?
SJP as Carrie Bradshaw in Season One of Sex and the City (1998)
Me hosting a rather cramped birthday party in our living room in 1998
After being a finalist (and not getting) two different paid positions earlier this year, I’m feeling more and more like I actually am retired. My 30+ year career as a fundraiser feels over. It’s not that I couldn’t get some job in the field if I really wanted or needed one, but there just aren’t very many listings that excite me. And I don’t want to work a full-time job that I’m not excited about at this point in my life. I’m going to keep my LinkedIn profile open to recruiters, just in case someone reaches out with the perfect thing, but I’m not holding my breath.
[Side note: I know I’m lucky to have the option to not work at this age. All of my friends my own age are still working. My husband is still working part-time. All I can say is, we have been pretty diligent savers for most of our marriage and we got hooked up with a professional financial advisor early on. Left to our own devices, I’m not sure we’d be in this position. Honestly, my eyes just glaze over when this guy meets with us, but I do trust him. We’ve been with him for 30 years now.]
So, the question becomes: what to do? My daughter doesn’t need much help with my granddaughter and my outdoor summer pool closes Labor Day. I’m going to have a lot of time on my hands soon. I discovered last year that serving on my church’s governing board is not my thing. And my prior level of political activism (when I still thought we could stop Trump) feels futile now.
It seems like I should take advantage of this time and my health to start something new. After considering a number of options (from learning French to getting in way better shape), I’ve landed on something old. Something I used to love as a teenager. Art. I’ve enrolled in one drawing and one painting class for the fall. We’ll see where it goes, but I am excited.
I’m not sure why it’s taken me so long to realize that women’s eyebrows fade away as they age.
I recently posted about feeling pretty darn good about how I looked all dressed up for the first time since turning 60. Not to rain on my own parade of self-confidence, but the one exception was my eyebrows. Where’d they go? I did use a colored gel product on them, but clearly it was not enough.
Soooo, having spent an embarrassing amount of time watching complicated eyebrow tutorials, I’ve decided this quick and easy one is the easiest to follow:
My beautiful 60+ friend Susan recommended the very cheap and readily available (at CVS) wet n wild ultimate brow retractable pencil, which I bought in Ash Brown (because ChatGPT said that was the best color for me) and I think it was a good call.
I’m not usually on here with make-up tips, but hey…if I have one, I’ll share it.😊
I don’t think I did a thing to my eyebrows in college…they were just there.
OK, I’m starting to sense a certain outlook change now that I’m 60.
I’m sure there are lots of people out there that start wonderful new adventures at age 60, but I think, for most of us, that feeling that the path is wide open is over. That “open road” feeling you had in your 20s, 30s & 40s—that life could still potentially take you anywhere—has passed.
If you haven’t already done it, you’re probably never going to:
—move to Paris
—became a famous musician
—join the Peace Corps
—become a doctor
—become so rich you never have to worry about money
—move to the other coast
—buy an RV and travel the country (actually, I think some people DO do that in their 60s)
—leave your spouse and run off with an old flame
—have children
—learn to cook
—get a graduate degree
—make the Olympic team
I’m not saying these things can’t happen in your sixties, but they usually don’t. Those big forks in the road are in the rearview mirror and your focus shifts to the twenty good years or so that you hopefully have left. Sadly, too many people are consumed by health and money worries in their 60s, but if you’re lucky enough to not have to worry about basic needs, you may want to return to fulfilling creative pursuits like painting or writing, or focusing on being fully present with family and friends, or traveling to your bucket list destinations.
The dreams are different now. And there are fewer of them.
My high school senior graduating class in 1983—when anything was possible
I got all the way dressed up for a very elegant Boston wedding and had a wonderful time.
My tan is real (from outdoor swimming) and my hair is its natural color. I’ve never done Botox or had any cosmetic surgery (not that I’m ruling it out). But, in the spirit of the many women sharing “This is 60” pics on social media, I decided to share a few here on my blog.
This is 60, with a fun “up do” by a local stylist who took me at the last minute when the humidity reached about 85%.
I’m lucky that the grey is pretty much just around my temples now. Embracing truly grey hair is going to be a challenge. I was even feeling good about taking pics with much younger, gorgeous women.I’m fully indulging my “Gilded Age” fantasies here. (Is anyone else watching that series on Max?) Now, if John Singer Sargent could just come back to life and paint my portrait, my fantasy would be complete.
Lo and behold, I’m able to answer today’s daily prompt! (Typically I see a message saying that I have already answered the daily prompt, as I’ve been blogging regularly for well over a year now.)
How do you waste the most time every day?
The big news is that I started this blog when I turned 50 and named it accordingly, but the seasons…they go round and round…and now I’m 60.
And, I’m still wasting far too much time looking at social media. I’ve even added TikTok to my repertoire. Oy.
But here’s what I’m going to try to stop wasting so much time on this decade: controlling situations and worrying about outcomes. I’m really REALLY going to try to live in the moment more. I want to enjoy my life.
Stephanie’s terrific response about worry reminded me that just recognizing when you’re fretting is a step in the right direction.
From the moment we get a positive pregnancy test to the day we die, moms will worry about their kids, but the active “molding” phase of that job is over for me. I can relax. I’ve told my kids everything I think they should know. We got them all the shots, hosted all the birthday parties, went to all the games, helped with all the homework, paid all the tuition bills. We did good! If I die tomorrow, they will be fine.
So, as a first step, here’s three things I enjoyed recently:
Swimming outside – my outdoor lap pool is open for the season and how lucky am I that I get to swim in a nice, warm, sun-filled lap lane?
Strawberries 🍓- It’s strawberry season here and they are delicious.
Books – I got a free Audibles subscription for two months and have started listening to books, which is a very different experience. I find that memoirs read by the author are especially good, because they know exactly which words to emphasize! (Currently listening to Molly Jong-Fast’s new book: “How to Lose Your Mother: A Daughter’s Memoir”)
Final thought: hating DJT and everything he represents and does has been a pretty major feature of the past ten years for me. In order to enjoy my life more, I need to somehow let that go a bit. My feeling is that maybe by staying involved in my church (which is full of activists), I can feel like I’m doing something without letting the political situation make me feel hopeless. Would love any tips that other like-minded people may have about this.
As my friends and classmates continue to hit the big SIX-OH, it’s a natural time to look back. After all, we’ve most definitely got more years behind us than in front of us now. (Although there was one lady in France that made it to 122.5 years old.)
Another friend posted about going deep into the woods (off the grid) for his big birthday weekend. No party or foreign travel for him. Just weed and contemplation I guess.
When we were all sophomores in high school, Ronald Reagan was elected President of the United States. In my mind, this was when the “fringe & ponchos” 70s truly ended and materialistic preppiness became fashionable. We replaced our earth shoes with boat shoes. Brand name labels (Izod, Polo, etc) were everything.
And as every true GenXer knows, the definitive preppy color combo was and always will be: Pink & Green. It’s not a color combo I wear much anymore, but I sure do like it in a garden.
I’ve never been one to wildly fluctuate in weight. I’m tall and naturally thin—or at least I was.
I was 5’ 8” and about 118 pounds as a senior in high school, with a tiny waist and relatively big boobs. I had the ideal 80s body. (I had no ass, but that was fine back in pre-Kardashians America.)
I remember a woman came up to me at a pool where I was lifeguarding once and said “How do you DO that? Like really, how do you have that body? Do you do aerobics or what?” She truly wanted to know my secret. (I had no secret. I did not exercise. And I ate plenty of crap. I was just young and tall.)
Over the decades my weight has crept up—about ten pounds per decade. No big leaps or losses other than during and after my two pregnancies.
Doctors now are never concerned about my weight. I’m well within the normal range for my height and age, but I’m not skinny anymore. I’m average.
Yet…I’ve been clinging to some old clothing sizes. I want to be a medium (not a large) in some basic items like t-shirts and underwear, but I’m not. I’m just not. Large is way more comfortable. I’m a size 10 now in dresses (despite many years of wearing size 6 or 8).
So, at 18 days from sixty, I’ve tossed a bunch of old bras and underwear and replaced them with the next size up. I’m never gonna be that old size again. I put a couple of size 8 dresses on a resale website and bought a new size 10 dress for a wedding I’m going to in July.
I don’t think I look bad, really. I’m just older. I don’t have it in me to exercise like crazy or take one of those new-fangled weight loss drugs. I’m just going to be the size I am now and hopefully stay healthy. And comfortable.
Cheryl Tiegs on the cover of the Sports Illustrated swimsuit issue in 1983–the year I was a senior in high school. She was the mainstream beauty ideal at the time.
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