It’s a little primitive and somewhat disturbing when referred to as a herd in 2020. More so, around a milestone birthday. I turned sixty this year. At the time, it felt no different than turning forty or fifty. I didn’t feel the urge to yell, Get off my lawn! as expected, or behave in a manner synonymous with later years. But that’s before reading anyone sixty or older was in a high-risk category for the Covid-19 virus. Is sixty old?
This revelation could not have come at a worse time. I had to reconsider this whole business of life, and just when I thought I was getting the hang of it. I’d squandered my youth, as one does, and middle age was anchored by responsibility, but the Third Age presents an opportunity for a personal renaissance. It’s where hopes and dreams that fell to the wayside or lay dormant could take center stage once more.
Sixty was the gateway to this fantastic new phase of life, not invitations to early dinner specials, rocking chairs overlooking pristine lawns, or higher susceptibility to new viruses.