I'm sixty-two-years-old. Luckily, I'm still working (I've been a foodservice consultant for nearly twenty years, and established a bit of niche in PR and writing/editing for my clients), but I can feel both the workload slowing down and ennui setting in. I can't really complain about either. I'm fortunate enough to have lived a cash-centric life, so I've got an immediately adequate investment portfolio and the promise of a turn-key retirement domicile that I'll inherit from my mother. It all looks good on paper.
That's what millions of Americans in my age bracket also thought before the "economic downturn." For my generation of baby boomers who grew up in an age of expansion and never-ending guarantees, the current situation is beyond unnerving, it's downright debilitating. Who would think that one would yearn to be sixty-five, just to be able to pry the medical insurance piranhas off my back (forget dental or vision). And the $2,200 per month in social security that's promised me when I reach the fabled sixty-six? I'll be there, will it?
So there you go. This blog is my experience plodding through this social, political, emotional, physical and psychological miasma that is being six-ish. My body is graying and wrinkling, but my mind is still operating in technicolor. I've got small plans that involve making things grow (it's harder than it looks) and preserving things (also harder than it looks; gotta love pectin). I've been sharing the senior care of my mother (a spry ninety) with my brothers, so I'd also like to share what I've learned about growing really old, and ruminate about what's in store for me. I know I'm not the only one in this country and on the globe having an identity crisis, but it really does lighten the load just writing about it. Thanks, ethersphere, you'll hear from me again soon.
