Plot Twist… I’m 60!

I'm 60. I know. I'm as surprised as anyone. I'm not exactly sure when this happened because in my head my parents are still somewhere in their late 50s. I feel like someone should have warned me this was getting this close, but here we are.

I don't feel 60. Although, to be fair, I'm not entirely sure what 60 is supposed to feel like. I still feel like me, which is a little concerning because I really thought I'd be more grown-up by now. I assumed that somewhere along the way, wisdom would just show up. I'd become one of those wise old women in the movies, sitting quietly while younger people gathered around to seek my advice about life's great mysteries. I'd have a calm, knowing expression, say something incredibly profound, and everyone would nod thoughtfully.

Somehow, that hasn't happened. I still have more questions than answers, and most days I'm just figuring things out as I go. I still occasionally look around for a more responsible adult when something goes wrong, only to realize that apparently I'm the responsible adult. Which seems like a pretty significant oversight on someone's part.

But maybe that's what I got wrong about getting older. I thought wisdom meant eventually reaching a point where you understood how life worked. Where you knew what to say, what to do, and how to handle whatever came your way. Now I'm beginning to think wisdom might be realizing that nobody really has it all figured out. Some people are just better at looking like they do.

The strange thing about getting older is that, in my head, I don't feel much different than I did years ago. I still laugh at the same ridiculous things, get excited about little surprises, and occasionally say something that makes me wonder whether I should be allowed out in public unsupervised. I also still think of people my age as being much older than me. Which explains what happened the other day.

I was innocently sitting on a bench, minding my own business, when this old guy walked by. I glanced at him and thought, Oh, he reminds me of my childhood friend's dad. I didn't think much of it until I noticed his shirt said Circa 1966. Wait, what?? I looked at the shirt again, then back at him, and had the slightly horrifying realization that this old guy was MY AGE!

I'm not sure what bothered me more, that I thought someone my own age looked like my friend's dad, or that it genuinely hadn't occurred to me that I might look that old to someone else. Either way, it got me thinking about how strange aging really is. You go along feeling pretty much like the same person you've always been, and then one day some old guy walks past you wearing a Circa 1966 T-shirt and scares the crap out of you.

What surprises me most about turning 60, though, is that I actually like being this age. More importantly, I like this version of me. I definitely couldn't have said that when I was younger. Back then, I spent an enormous amount of time worrying about what everyone thought. I wanted people to like me. I didn't want to disappoint anyone or make anyone angry. I could replay one stupid conversation in my head for three days, wondering whether I'd said the wrong thing, used the wrong tone, or accidentally offended someone who probably hadn't given the conversation another thought. It was exhausting!

I'd love to tell you I turned 60 and stopped caring what people think. Nope. Just recently, I worried that people would think I'd only bought a Dolly Parton sweatshirt because she had recently passed away. These were not actual people, by the way. Nobody said anything. I created these people myself and then worried about their opinions.

Apparently, I can still invent an entire audience of people who are judging me, even when I'm completely alone. The good news is that these days I'm more likely to catch myself doing it and recognize how ridiculous it is. The younger version of me would have spent the next three days defending her sweatshirt purchase to people who didn't exist. The 60-year-old version of me can usually laugh about it. Usually.

I think that's one of the things I like most about getting older. I'm finally starting to give myself a little of the understanding I've always been so willing to give everyone else. For years, I had this imaginary version of myself I was constantly trying to become. She was confident, organized, disciplined, never said the wrong thing, and certainly didn't spend her afternoons worrying about what strangers might think of her clothing choices. I'm not sure who I thought this woman was going to be, but she sounded impressive. Probably had a beautifully organized closet, too.

I spent so much time measuring myself against that imaginary woman that I didn't always appreciate the person I already was. There was always something I thought I needed to improve, something I should be doing better, some reason I wasn't quite where I was supposed to be. The frustrating part was that every time I got a little closer to becoming that person, I seemed to come up with a whole new list of things she needed to work on.

I wish I could go back and tell my younger self a few things. I'd tell her she doesn't have to work so hard to make everyone happy, that not everyone is going to like her, and that's perfectly fine. I'd tell her that making a mistake doesn't mean she's failed and that most of the things she's lying awake worrying about won't matter nearly as much as she thinks they will.

Of course, knowing my younger self, she'd probably listen politely, nod, and then spend the next three days wondering whether she'd offended me.

Maybe that's what I find so interesting about turning 60. I'm old enough to recognize patterns in my life that I couldn't see when I was younger, but I still have plenty of time to do something about them. There are things I want to try, places I want to see, and parts of myself I'm still discovering. I used to think that by this age, I'd be pretty settled in who I was. Instead, I'm finding that I'm more curious than ever about who I might still become.

I think that's what I wish I'd understood sooner. Getting older doesn't mean you have to stop changing, stop questioning things, or stop surprising yourself. It doesn't mean you suddenly become wise or that all your insecurities disappear. Apparently, you can reach 60, have a lifetime of experiences behind you, and still spend an afternoon worrying about the imaginary opinions of people who don't exist.

So yes, I'm 60. I'm still not the wise old woman I thought I'd become. I still have more questions than answers, I still overthink ridiculous things, and apparently I still need to be reminded that people born in 1966 are not a generation older than me.

But here's what surprises me most. I actually like who I am. Not because I've finally figured everything out or become the person I thought I was supposed to be, but because I'm starting to realize I don't have to. There are still things I want to change, things I want to learn, and probably a few things about myself that will take another 60 years to understand. For once, I'm okay with that.

Plot twist… I spent 60 years waiting to become a grown-up. Turns out, I kind of like the person who showed up instead.