What Is It Like Being Seventy?

One of my daughters asked me what it was like turning seventy. Well aside from stiffer joints, a little bit of declining memory, and thinning hair, it’s great—I’m alive. Genetics had something to do with my making it this far, but it is not all due to my DNA. I have the privilege of eating well, good healthcare (as you read on you may wonder about that), and time for refreshment and restorative activities. I do not underestimate any of these factors in my life. And, too, there’s DNA. My parents are still living independently at almost ninety, having made only a few lifestyle tweaks. Yet, I worry. Several close relatives didn’t live to be seventy and there is a long list of high school and college friends who have passed. Some deaths had explanation (AIDS), and some just seemed surprising and unfortunate. All this heretofore sublimated information seemed to find its way to the front of my brain, keeping me ruminating about the impending consequences of turning seventy, disrupting my sleep, and adding to my moodiness, which has been impacted by events of the last eighteen months.

​Which brings me to “What Is It Like Being Seventy?” In a nutshell, being seventy seems to be a more serious time in my life, accompanied by a greater sense of urgency to get things done. All things. Everything from the personal, like unloading my things to facilitate flexibility, and frivolous bucket list items like learning Italian or becoming more expert in areas of the arts and literature, to the more serious issues like when can my generation take a rest from leadership in the world? We’re tired and want to tend to our bucket lists!

My work has been slow for the last couple of months due to two health scares. That is a fact of aging. Health scares. My partner-in-the possible, Stephen, was diagnosed two weeks before my birthday with melanoma. He had it surgically removed and, fortunately, all is well. An early diagnosis, followed by excision, and no further treatment was the best outcome we could ask for. He will need a doctor’s monitoring every three months for some time.

Prior to discovering Stephen’s health issue, I was not well, experiencing dizziness and severe lightheadedness. I avoid going to the doctor unless I feel half dead. I only see my physician once a year for a physical and bloodwork. My choice, not hers. Prior to calling her for the dizziness, she had prescribed a non-addictive sleep medication. I already suffer from sleep dysfunction, and this year’s events made sleep virtually impossible. I take another medication, which she prescribes for weight loss maintenance, and I take vitamins. When I began feeling light-headed and dizzy, I assumed incorrectly that if medicine isn’t addictive, you can simply stop taking it without consequence. I discontinued every medication and all supplements. My doctor overreacted to my bloodwork results, which indicated a slightly elevated red cell count, telling me, in addition to the most likely reasons—sleep apnea, too much iron, or overall lack of sleep—the results could be an indication of a rare blood cancer. Long story short, after a wild, scary ride of incompetence, I found the voice of reason in a PA in a different medical practice, who put me on the right track and gave me confidence I wasn’t dying.

Without exception, the past eighteen months have been the most stressful period in my life. Some events have been catastrophic; many other challenges were simply beyond my control. Exacerbating my stress, these circumstances were often simultaneous and convergent. I am fortunate to have a background in management, and my husband and I have been business partners for two decades. We understand resource allocation. But unfortunately, I ran out of emotional resources somewhere during this year and needed additional support.  

In addition to three hurricane events, my mother was diagnosed with bladder cancer last June and required surgery. As she is 89 years old, I was prepared for the worst. I still have my dad, too, who was a wreck. So, while I have a home in Asheville, I spent a great deal of my time last summer in Florida, or shuffling between North Carolina and Florida. My mom has fully recovered and is doing great these days, as she approaches her 90^th birthday in September.

We had decided to sell our Florida home right after the hurricane restoration work was completed a little over a year ago. At the suggestion of our realtor and stager, we moved most of the home’s contents to Asheville. The Florida house didn’t sell, so we are now in the process of selling our Asheville home, because I want a simpler life. I get it: a first world problem. But it is my problem. This is my fifteenth residential move in 41 plus years. Good thing I have a background in project management.

Although I do not post political content in my blogs, suffice it to say that the world is a mess because of our country’s lack of leadership at home and abroad. No one trusts the United States anymore, including many of its citizens. Who and what can we rely on for stability and security?

Things occur when you are older that you cannot recover from. As we age, risk taking needs to be weighed more carefully, because we have less time to recover from losses—physical, spiritual, and emotional. And when the resources being lost at this age are of an emotional nature, there is often no chance of a wholehearted recovery. That is why trust is very important in all relationships, but especially for older people. Safety. Trust. Security.

Now before you all click off this reading to go pour yourselves a stiff drink, allow me to add a positive, hopeful note to my saga—a story laced with a life of privilege.

Through all this mess, chaos, and lack of sleep, I managed to create a publishing company on my own, finish my second novel, The Faraways, and make over 100 pieces of art, many of which were sold or donated. I created a website for my art business, and donated 100% of the proceeds, along with a matching donor grant to charities in both my hometowns. Despite having only half of my attention and necessary effort for a successful launch, book sales are doing well. That is okay, too. It is where I find myself.

Turning seventy is not a bad thing. It is a number that represents being closer to the end than the beginning of life - a real wake-up call. But that reminder is girded by a long life of experience, wisdom, good instincts, strength of my convictions, steadfast devotion to friends and family, and a great support network. Those skills only come with age. A long life is a gift.

I have made many new friends during these past 18 months. Some from Facebook or other online venues, some in my travels, a few while I was seeking professional support to regroup with my book business, and a few through charity work with my art. These relationships, along with my posse of oldies, sustain me. When you see pictures of me with my family, my partner or my friends laughing my head off—take note—I am living a well-integrated life. Yes, I have privileges that many do not. I try my best to be charitable with what I have materially, spiritually, intellectually, and creatively. Pushing back against frustration and setbacks is my joyful resistance to imposed pain. We all need to find ways to restore and refresh, especially as we age.

So overall, I am settling in well to being seventy. I am exercising again, sleeping a little better, and reengaging in my meditation practice. I have made decisions to further my agenda of having a smaller life and deepen my attachments to friends and family. As I publish this blog, I am preparing to leave Asheville in my road-trip-ready Pleasure-Way Ontour Van, returning to Florida for the rest of the month. In July I am heading to California to spend a month with my kids in the Bay Area. I have not decided whether the van will be going to California. That takes too much coordination right now, but it could still happen. There are so many great camping trips to take in Northern California. We shall see.

Gratitude is at the center of my life’s journey. Always. This stage is no different. Sometimes I just need to remind myself. That’s what close advisors, friends, and family offer. Perspective. Accountability. Trust. And sometimes a good kick in the butt.

Many thanks to you all who continue to support my work—my writing and my art. I love sharing my creativity with you. If you are interested in sharing your work, please contact me. Let’s set up a time to chat or meet. I am eager to grow my community of creative women —sharing and caring, moving mountains through love, and supporting each other in aging. Have a wonderful time until we meet up again in the blogospere, or in the real world. Arrivederci!

With gratitude.