Age is Just Another Number
By Cal Orey
Hello Sixties!
I can do 61. It's not rocket science.The other day, a well-meaning 20-something woman/mother of two asked me the intrusive question: "What are you doing for your birthday?" Pregnant pause. "I haven't thought about it, really," I mumbled. But the truth is, my upcoming B-Day has crossed my mind, sort of.
When I work the "intuitive" networks, a place on the webcam for the world to see; and phone--I dish out my "gifts" of uncanny intuition and years of experience. I find myself often saying to clients who want answers, "I wish I was 24" or "I'm old enough to be your great grandmother" and "I'm 95" --and it breaks the generation gap. I inspire by a bit of humor and pointing out the bliss of gratitude for our blessings--whatever our age.
Way, way, way back in time when I was 22, I recall telling my younger boyfriend, "I'm old." He then told me about his active older sister, 27, and gave me vivid examples of how young she acted. Actually, her amazing feats made me feel inadequate. I put my "old age" on the back burner as I yearned to be a more well-rounded, self-reliant woman.
Fast forward several decades later. True, I am older but it doesn't really matter. Sure, I'd love to be 27 but I wouldn't swap the experiences I have earned. (Years ago in a writing class a peer said I lacked living life.) So, here I am in my 60s, a baby boomer born in the fifties. (I've done growing up in the burbs, watched our guys come home from the Vietnam war, hitched and hiked with my dog across America, rolled pennies in the recession(s), survived the SF World Series quake, cried after the dot.com bubble burst, stocked up for the Y2K hoopla, and as a journalist covered catastrophic events of the 21st century.) And that's just the short list.
Oops! I forgot to have a doting husband and a baby (or two). While I am mateless/childless, I do have a world of escapades that still make me smile, blush, and feel good from head to toe. Flanked by two loving, loyal dogs--a pup and senior--one mellow 3 year old Siamese-mix cat, and a sibling (younger)--I'm over 50 (I recall not trusting anyone over 30!) but cozy with growing older. And, I do write books that seem to age gracefully.
So, what will I do for my birthday in early October? I will bake a healthy pumpkin pie; order skinny jeans and boyfriend sweaters; get firewood and flannel sheets; walk the Aussie and Brittany boys, and enjoy a swim/hot tub at the mountain resort pool without tourists. And, of course, I will continue to work on my latest book, The Healing Powers of Olive Oil, Revised and Updated. Late at night, I will watch a chick flick on Lifetime and cuddle up with the fur kids, check out the goldfish, and sip a cup of hot chamomile tea.
Do I wish I was younger? Nah. I flunked math so numbers never did anything for me. Fueling the senses to keep balanced mind, body, and spirit are what counts at the end of the day.
Hello Sixties!
I can do 61. It's not rocket science.The other day, a well-meaning 20-something woman/mother of two asked me the intrusive question: "What are you doing for your birthday?" Pregnant pause. "I haven't thought about it, really," I mumbled. But the truth is, my upcoming B-Day has crossed my mind, sort of. When I work the "intuitive" networks, a place on the webcam for the world to see; and phone--I dish out my "gifts" of uncanny intuition and years of experience. I find myself often saying to clients who want answers, "I wish I was 24" or "I'm old enough to be your great grandmother" and "I'm 95" --and it breaks the generation gap. I inspire by a bit of humor and pointing out the bliss of gratitude for our blessings--whatever our age.
Way, way, way back in time when I was 22, I recall telling my younger boyfriend, "I'm old." He then told me about his active older sister, 27, and gave me vivid examples of how young she acted. Actually, her amazing feats made me feel inadequate. I put my "old age" on the back burner as I yearned to be a more well-rounded, self-reliant woman.
Fast forward several decades later. True, I am older but it doesn't really matter. Sure, I'd love to be 27 but I wouldn't swap the experiences I have earned. (Years ago in a writing class a peer said I lacked living life.) So, here I am in my 60s, a baby boomer born in the fifties. (I've done growing up in the burbs, watched our guys come home from the Vietnam war, hitched and hiked with my dog across America, rolled pennies in the recession(s), survived the SF World Series quake, cried after the dot.com bubble burst, stocked up for the Y2K hoopla, and as a journalist covered catastrophic events of the 21st century.) And that's just the short list.
Oops! I forgot to have a doting husband and a baby (or two). While I am mateless/childless, I do have a world of escapades that still make me smile, blush, and feel good from head to toe. Flanked by two loving, loyal dogs--a pup and senior--one mellow 3 year old Siamese-mix cat, and a sibling (younger)--I'm over 50 (I recall not trusting anyone over 30!) but cozy with growing older. And, I do write books that seem to age gracefully.
So, what will I do for my birthday in early October? I will bake a healthy pumpkin pie; order skinny jeans and boyfriend sweaters; get firewood and flannel sheets; walk the Aussie and Brittany boys, and enjoy a swim/hot tub at the mountain resort pool without tourists. And, of course, I will continue to work on my latest book, The Healing Powers of Olive Oil, Revised and Updated. Late at night, I will watch a chick flick on Lifetime and cuddle up with the fur kids, check out the goldfish, and sip a cup of hot chamomile tea.
Do I wish I was younger? Nah. I flunked math so numbers never did anything for me. Fueling the senses to keep balanced mind, body, and spirit are what counts at the end of the day.
No comments have been added yet.
