Last week I turned 58. The birthdays all seem to be one big blob now. The exuberant 16th, 18th and 21st are long forgotten milestones. Thirty, forty and fifty were, I guess, somewhat noteworthy. But now, I don’t think much about them. The writer Richard Ford referred to this stage of life as “the permanent period” in his novel “The Lay of the Land.” That seems about right.
It’s not that there aren’t things to look forward to. Or that every year will be the same. Or that there is no significance in 58. For one thing, I like the look and sound of the number 58 better than 57. So that’s something.
Another is that my father was 58 when he had a massive heart attack. He lived, I’m happy to say. But it took months before he recovered to the point where he could go in for quadruple bypass surgery, and then recover again. It was my first awakening to mortality, and my first full appreciation of how much I loved him, and just what a good guy he was.
So I thought about that. And I received some simple but priceless little messages—emails, texts—from my old friends, near and far. My college roommate whom I don’t see often enough. My nephew, whom I’ll never see often enough for my satisfaction. My good friends from my days living in Northern Virginia and working in D.C.
Of course, there’s Beth, who loves her birthday so much that she’s taught me how to enjoy my own. I’m always happy to see one more year together on the horizon.
And that’s what birthdays are good for these days. Gratitude. Deep, enveloping gratitude—it’s no substitute for spry youth, but spry youth isn’t a substitute for it, either. And it’s this kind of gratitude that, I think, can only be earned, felt, and understood over some significant time and living as well as one can.
This permanent period ain’t all bad.
What a beautiful way of looking at the “permanent period”, Mike.
Monna
Thanks Monna.
Inspiring reminder. Thanks
Well, happy & healthy birthday to you Mike. I turned 50 about 1.5 years ago & am still having difficulty adjusting to it. Iam not one of those women who minds stating my age; it just doesn’t feel right to me. Itis funny though, I’m the youngest of 4 children & therefore always the baby & then thereis my 2 teen-ager sons who tell me Iam the most immature adult they know (which I take as a complimentâthough it’s not meant as one). On another level I feel with each year comes a bit more wisdom. So thank you for mentioning a book for me to sink my teeth into & I hope you had a great birthday!
Warmly,
Pam
Mike, I love the concept you present here. Since I was 12 I’ve felt purple inside…that was originally a claim to having an identity separate from my twin brother, whom I adore. But as the years went on it became an emblem of being forever youthful and questioning…a kind of Peter Pan complex. As I approach my 69th (another interesting number, don’t you think?), I’ve come to love the quote found on a long treasured sweat shirt…”You can only be young once, but you can be immature forever.” HAPPY BIRTHDAY Mike and bravo to Beth who always seems to get what really matters.
Immature forever, that rings true:)
You are an old soul, Mike. I didn’t feel (something like) what you are feeling until I turned 70. It’s the time of life when you are allowed to be both wise and immature simultaneously, as your other respondents prove! Have a wonderful and healthy year, full of good surprises and comfortable “set pieces.”
That’s awfully sweet Benita. Thanks.
I am less than a year into my decade of 5’s, I have been forgetting to remember the really important things in life. Gratitude.
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