The letters started arriving a couple of weeks before my husband’s fiftieth birthday.
The first was disguised as a birthday card. I added it to the top of the stack of a few other birthday cards for him to open. Almost every day, another letter would arrive, each one less festive than the one before, a little more business-like … then I noticed the embossed return label and the letters A-A-R-P.
This could be fun.
Your fiftieth birthday is supposed to signify entering the “golden years” and should be celebrated with gifts of gold. Not having any gold and wanting to poke a little fun at my husband, I opted to decorate everything black and cut out faux gravestones in cardboard. I had a dozen of the “old man” AARP letters to scatter around the house to complete the effect. On the day of the party, our friends obliged and gave my husband a pretty good roasting.
Flash forward three years, and the letters have started to arrive—addressed to me.
Not so fun.
My son told me that he plans to sell his second company and retire at the age of forty-five. Maybe forty-five is the sweet spot. All your body parts are in good working order, and your kids are still around, so you can enjoy spending time with them when they are actually pleasant to be around! When you are forty-five you still have the energy for adventure travel … and can drink more than two glasses of wine with dinner without losing any sleep over it.
Now that I’m halfway through my fifth decade and the kids are long gone, I’ve missed the mid-forties opportunity. Occasionally, I drag out the vision board and think about taking the trip I’ve been dreaming about, my trip of a lifetime … going on an African safari on horseback! Or I’ll flip through my flight logbook and feel inspired to resume my flight lessons. For just a moment, it’s easy to imagine living on a private airstrip in the Australian Outback.
Back to reality.
My husband and I are at risk of turning into the caricatures of the old, retired couple who live on the corner. Last week, I overheard him yelling at some poor woman not to park on our grass. It’s all too easy to cancel our Friday night date night to the new restaurant in town and stay home on the couch. He’ll say, “What if the food isn’t good?” and I’ll point out, “The restaurant is new. Let’s give them time to work the bugs out, and then give it a try,” as we settle down in front of the TV.
As I sat in the doctor’s waiting room today, I found myself reading the AARP magazine and enjoying it. On the cover of the magazine was a photo of Diane Keaton. I like her. She is still acting in movies and television, and she’s much older than I am.
Eureka!
I should go back to my first career of acting. I quit auditioning when I was too old to play the mom, and not old enough to play the grandma. I’d have to let my hair go gray. I’m not so sure I’m ready to do that.
But I do know … I’m not ready to retire.