This is the third in a series of letters between me and my friend, author Margaret Roach, on the challenges (and joys!) of aging. I’m Old (just 55) and she’s Older (facing 60 this year). And since we’re surely not the only ones buying wrinkle creams, we decided to share our exchange with you, too. Be sure to read Margaret’s letter to me here.
I’m thinking maybe we should come up with some new words for us.
Have you noticed that a few of our (older) readers have pointed out that, at 55 and 60, we aren’t quite “there” yet? My guess: to them we look less like a pair of wise elders and more like a couple of adolescents who are insisting they’re adults and want to be treated as such. No matter that our curfews these days are entirely self-imposed or that, rather than indulging in hedonistic excess, we’ve pretty much renounced all our youthful vices. The point is, if we’re old now, what will we call ourselves at 85 and 90? (We are planning to be writing to each other thirty years from now, right?) [continue...]