Nothing is Different Turning 65 Than Any Other Day

Elizabeth Weintraub in June of 2017, a few weeks before turning 65.

Last night at midnight, way too late for me to stay up at this age, I turned 65. Although, to be more accurate, since I was born at 6:07 AM Central Standard Time, I was still asleep when the clock rolled over in Sacramento. I don’t know about most people who turn 65, but I expected to feel a little bit different – perhaps more worldly, wiser, kinder — all those things that are supposed to come with aging. Yet the truth is I don’t feel a day over 15.

Fifty years have gone by in the blink of an eye. I know what they mean when they say youth is wasted on the young. But at this age, turning 65, it would be wasted me on as well because I don’t have enough energy to be wild anymore. I’ve become much more settled, less of a risk taker. I calculate odds. I look before leaping.

Fortunately, somewhere along the journey of life I have learned not to wait to be happy or for life to just happen to me. I give myself a lot more permission to be filled with joy. To do the things I enjoy. If I had any regrets, it would be that I did not take this principle completely to heart earlier in my life. Perhaps I was somewhat overshadowed by the idea that I had to make sacrifices before I could enjoy being alive.

I don’t know why I thought turning 65 would be different. Turning any age is not really any different. My 62nd birthday was a lot of fun, but they all are. When I was 25 and a quarter-of-a-century, I didn’t care. Turning 40 was a much bigger deal than my 50th birthday.

Birthdays are simply little milestones, markers, that we are alive to face another year. Turning 65 is nothing to sneeze at. I have a black address book filled with names of people I never read anymore because they are all dead.