A Funny Thing Happened Today on My Way to 60

So, there I was, minding my own business on my 5 mile run/walk this morning. I was listening to India Arie's "Video" and thinking about what a great message that was for women. (Men too, really.)

"I’m not the average girl from your video
And I ain’t built like a supermodel
But I learned to love myself unconditionally,
Because I am a queen"

I was admiring me because on most days I do love myself unconditionally. As my mother always said, "If you don't vote for yourself, why would anyone else?" (On the day I came home in 5th grade and told her I hadn't voted for myself for class president.)

So, visualize this: I'm out there running and not caring in any way what I look like. (Which is good because I do not look good in any way when I run. See my wellness blog post about that here. 
Here's a recent photo of me in my running getup. It's not today but let's just say today was even worse.

I'm enjoying the gorgeous day when a man pulls up beside me (from behind) on a bike. I live in a summer resort area and vacationers always stop people who look like locals to ask questions about the area. I'm happy to oblige. He looked a bit like the Monopoly guy but much taller. I like Monopoly.

He said, (these are direct quotes) "You look nice. Do you mind if I harass you for 1 minute?"

I figured he needed help or directions and he was right; I am a nice person, (sometimes) so I said, "Not at all. Take 2 minutes."

He said, "Are you here for the week on vacation?"

I said, "No, I live here."

This where I figured he'd start asking about where to find the liquor store. That is usually the first question, followed by "Where are the wild horses?".

But... NO!

He said, "Are you single?"

I was flabbergasted.

I don't get hit on/picked up often... or ever. And, I don't have a good history of picking/being picked up. At the end of a long first (and last) semester in law school in 1977, friends and I were at a bar celebrating our survival. I was married at the time but everyone else was single. My friend Fran was lamenting her total lack of a social life and admiring a hot guy at the bar. She wanted to hit on him but lacked confidence. I said, "No problem. I'll go get him for you." I had confidence because I wasn't actually the picker in this case. So, I approached the cute guy and said, "My friend over there would like to meet you. Are you interested?" He said, "Are you Debby? I think you used to babysit for me."

After that I never hit on anyone again, not for me, not for a friend. The last time anyone hit on me was in 1999. I was in a bar at a ski resort with my then 18-year-old daughter, Alexis. A guy came up and offered to buy us drinks. (We were drinking hot chocolate.) I don't think he cared which of us he picked up but I'm pretty sure I wasn't his first choice. He said something like, "What are you two sisters drinking?" After I stopped laughing, I explained that we were mother and daughter sharing a private moment.

And there you have it, my total history of hitting on.

Until today.

So, I said, in answer to his query about being single, "No, not even close. Happily married for 37 years. And, I'm almost 60 so I totally appreciate your attempt."

He simply jumped on his bike and rode away.

So, I ask you, what is this about? Was he really just looking for female company for the week he was on vacation? I "look nice"? What the hell was that? Keep in mind, he rode up from behind me and didn't even see my face! Does my ass make me "look nice"?

But, hell, I'm taking this for the compliment I'd like to think it is, rather than a horny stranger looking for a good time for the day with anyone female.

So I ask you, SOS sisters, when was the last time you hit on anyone or got hit on? How'd it go?

And, if you don't know the song, here's a musical interlude to inspire you to unconditional love of you!

To Whom It May Concern: I love you

Between now and when I turn 60, one of the new leaves I'm turning over is the saying of "I love you" to the people I actually feel that way about. I am not now and have never been an easy "I love you" communicator. Perhaps it goes back to that day long ago when my high school boyfriend Craig (who no longer remembers me or so he claims) sat next to me on the steps going from his parents' kitchen to the basement (how lovely and romantic) and leaned in after a kiss and said quietly, "I love you." 

And, I leaned in equally quietly and said, "Thanks." 

Well, I didn't love him and I didn't want to lie to him because I really, really, liked and respected him. Also, I was polite and "thanks" was the first genuine, non-insulting thing that came to my mind. The first thing that came to mind was "Oh, crap." But, that didn't seem appropriate.

Fast forward a mere many years and here I am, still not someone who says "I love you" easily to anyone who isn't my husband or my child. Maybe it's not the legacy of Craig that holds me back. Maybe it's the legacy of my parents who most certainly loved me but I'm not sure they ever said so. When my dad was dying of lung cancer, I launched into a long dissertation of love just after the doctor told us his prognosis. I told him in the most misty and loving terms what a wonderful father, grandfather, and man he was in his quiet and understated way. I assured him that the legacy he'd leave behind was nothing short of stunning. I went on for 10 minutes waxing poetic with the words I had never before spoken. I leaned in and gave him a rare kiss. 

He leaned in and said quietly, "Do you have a key to my safe deposit box?" 

So, if I'm a dysfunctional "I love you" person, you can see that I come by it naturally. But that moment of waiting to hear "I love you" from Dad taught me a valuable lesson... or two. First, you don't have to hear "I love you" in order to know you are loved. I know my Dad was crazy about me and my kids and husband. Two, it's nice to hear anyway and it's a gift you can give the people you love. It feels good every time.

But, a few years ago, Ned and I made some new friends in our new-ish hometown in North Carolina. When we left them at the end of a social event, we'd say goodnight or goodbye and they'd say, "Love you." It caught us off guard at first. Maybe we said, "Thanks" even, but I'm not sure. But after a while I realized these folks weren't just saying "Goodbye" with that expression. They actually were telling their friends how they felt about them. It was genuine and quite moving.

So, I stepped a toe into that strange water and started saying "I love you" to my friends when I left. I started with one of my oldest and dearest and then moved into my newer and dearest. It felt awkward at first but now it's growing on me. The first person I said it to was my friend C. (she may prefer being anonymous here) who was going through a really tough time. When we parted on our regular Tuesday get-together, I said, "Love you" and she said the same. It felt comforting. It seemed the exact right last thing to say so that would be the thought and feeling we'd take with us at the end of the evening.

I don't know why it took me almost 60 years to embrace this phrase but between now and December I'm going to use it often. 

Do you say "I love you" easily? Do you say it to friends or just to family? Do you say it in passing or only to those who resonate in your life? Do you think it loses meaning if you say it too much? Or is it like love itself and there's always room for more?

This post is for my friend Micki. She was the original "Scandalously Over Sixty" that I knew. When I met Micki I was in my 20s and she's about ten years ahead of me. I looked to her over the years to see what was coming in my next decade and she never disappointed. She took on each new year with a zest for life that most people don't have. I'm not suggesting she never saw hard times, because, like all of us, of course she did. But she met them with vigor and with an attitude that said she would (not just could but would) weather the storm and come out on top.

And she did. She is one of the reasons I never feared the passing years because I looked ahead and saw vitality. If I could maintain my attitude of looking at life like she did and if I could stay "full of wonder" about the world, things huge and tiny, then I could remain alive and happy. And, I could share that with the people I love. And that is what I continue to wish for everyone -- a life of wonder.

Being full of wonder is a whole lot better than some things I could be full of. And, let's face it, I'm full of those, too so at least the wonder offsets the lesser things I'm full of.

So, to Micki and to all the women warriors of wonder, enjoy this song (Wonder) by the amazingly fabulous Emeli Sande. It's going to be my theme for this year, as I move swiftly towards 60.

Here are the lyrics:
I can beat the night, I’m not afraid of thunder
I am full of light, I am full of wonder
Woah, oh I came falling under
Woah, oh I am full of wonder
Though our feet might ache, the world’s upon our shoulders
No way we goin’ break, ‘cos we are full of wonder
Woah, oh we came falling under
Woah, oh we are full of wonder
This light is contagious, go, go tell your neighbours
Just reach out and pass it on
This light is contagious, go, go tell your neighbours
Just reach out and pass it on ooh yeah
This light is contagious, go, go tell your neighbours
Just reach out and pass it on ooh yeah
This light is contagious, go, go tell your neighbours
Just reach out and pass it on yeah
Woah, oh we came falling under
Woah, oh we are full of wonder
When everything feels wrong, and darkness falls upon you
Just try sing along, this is a message from Cabana
If your heart turns blue, I want you to remember
This song is for you, and you are full of wonder
Woah, oh we came falling under
Woah, oh we are full of wonder

What is your hope for the rest of your life? What one attribute do you most want to have?

Six Months to Sixty

Today is June 6. It's D-Day, which means one thing -- 6 months from today I turn -- YIKES -- 60. Okay, I know D-Day means more more important things to other people but for me seeing that date brought just this one thought. How the hell is it possible that I'm going to be sixty?

My daughter Shira says that I should stop saying I'm sixty while I'm still 59. I explain that I'm trying 60 on for size so that when it does fit me, it will not be so uncomfortable. I mean I don't want it to happen that one day I wake up and I'm sixty.

I have never had a birthday like this one before. That is to say one that felt actually life-altering. I've always aged with a nonchalant attitude and that has served me well. Maybe I was delusional and didn't really feel that I was getting older and now I do. Not sure why this number feels different but I'm acknowledging that and working on embracing it.

I have no intention of going gently into that good night. I'm going into 60 kicking, screaming, laughing, joking, running, playing, cooking, drinking, and generally living life to the best of my ability.

Here's what I look like today.

I ran 5.5 miles and this is what I looked like when I got home. When I'm sixty, I'll run 5 miles as I do each year on my birthday and I'll post a photo of what I look like then.

Between now and Dec. 6 (my actual S-Day of turning 60), I'll be musing about life and what I'm doing to make sure it's still fabulous. I'm seeking to highlight the stories of others who are 60 and living scandalously fabulous lives. What does that mean -- to live a scandalously fabulous life? It means that you are so vibrant and so alive and so happy that it's almost shocking! So, if you know someone who fits that profile, do write and send me their story and a photo. And, if it's you, even better!