Sixty

Like traipsing through a haunted mansion I’ve always been vaguely aware my life had certain underlying symmetries related to an arc for my soul; beyond the dark curtains and sprung surprises I certainly sense other forces lurking. This morning while rounding the bend at sixty years old I hearken how similar it seems to when I was seven. Milliseconds later as the black curtain lifts I recognize why: the short answer is that nobody presently has any more expectations from me; the qualified answer is somewhat longer and more complex.

It’s not just that I’m invisible to requirements and whatever pops out of the shadows no longer surprises me. It’s more that I’m all paid up: society doesn’t hold me to any more obligations and I leverage that to defray expectations. When somebody asks (or otherwise implies) an expectation they have, my eyes open wide and my mind goes Huh? Why would you expect I’d do that? When you’re seven the excuse is you’re too young; when you’re sixty it’s you’re too old to care, but the effect is the same. The eyes widening suggests “certainly you must be kidding” in any case. It’s as if somebody at the gym tosses a heavy medicine ball my way and I simply step aside. Yeah I don’t need to catch that one today.

It might be someone’s expectation for me at work, or it might be a social obligation. It could be someone’s invitation for me to attend a party, or a mature lady might inquire if we should go somewhere for lunch. In any case I can shrug and widen my eyes. No, I don’t need to and don’t feel like it particularly this very instant; it’s nothing personal and thanks for asking. And because I’m sixty that’s all I have to say and they understand fully and are utterly sympathetic.

Freedom from expectations makes my persistence level significantly less. Others may view this as a lack of patience, but it’s not that really. It’s more a lack of desire to commit to a long-range plan. When you’re a little kid it seems so many options could still be open: why get locked into a limiting fixed path? Every new twist and turn and colorful exciting new interest can blossom into a discovery. When you’re sixty it’s that no options remain open, so why bother following any restrictive objective beyond what is customary and necessary? It makes more sense to enjoy the moment for what it’s worth and leverage your wisdom and knowledge to meet the important goals you have already betrothed.

Another side-effect that spins up is game playing, not in the sense of board or card games but rather personality or human interactive games. Sneaking up on absent expectations, personality game playing is unstructured and spontaneous, as befits someone without directed goals. Not always for positive ends, as a youngster this is mostly a means for sounding out acceptable behavior and determining how to achieve what you want through personal interaction. At sixty though I already know how people and relationships work. Game playing at sixty is more about reminding the younger folks of moral parameters, gently pressing them up against edges and their self-drawn boundaries to allow them to rediscover the hard-and-fast rules of life for themselves.

When you’re seven and you start to realize kids can climb trees, you hesitate a bit until you can figure out how to get up to that first branch. Maybe you’ll get a stool or stand on an inverted trash can or maybe a friend can give you a boost. Then when you get to the first branch you’re fine. The view isn’t too bad from here.  Sure the view is likely nicer way up at  the top, and when you get older and more secure you’ll eventually climb all the way up there. But for now, at seven, the first branch is a comfortable and interesting change.

After all these years I’ve been gradually and carefully clambering my way back down from those magnificent views at the top branches, and now at sixty I perch once again on the bottomost branch. You know there’s only a little bit further to go, but like at age seven, I find this respite quite comfortable for now. I think I’ll sit here a few years longer.