Heavenly 70 : There’s a Certain Freedom to Being 3 Score and 10 Years Old

I just turned 70. My children are in shock, and I grin at their disbelief. Seventy feels different, different from 30, 40, 50 and 60. It feels better.

Each decade carries its own special fear and trepidation. At 30, I knew my “youth” was finished; I had joined the adult world. “Never trust anyone over 30,” became the motto of a generation now well beyond that age. At 40, I was over the hill. No one could convince me that “life begins at 40.” I was aging, and I knew it. Fifty, the intimidating half-century mark, more than halfway there, and I did not know where, or what, “there” was. Sixty was knocking on Social Security’s door, and I knew that was for “old folks.”

Now, having lived three score years and 10, I believe I have finally located “there.” I find that I have brand-new opportunities and an entirely new set of priorities. During those earlier decades, there were so many stressful things to prioritize: the challenges of school, job fulfillment, a marriage to keep steady, children to nurture, dollars to stretch. And then there were the unplanned peeves: a turkey bone in the toilet, a fallen tree in the yard, a new crack in the ceiling, an intrusive neighbor, a family illness. They were all monumental concerns when they occurred--each took its turn being my No. 1 worry.

Today, they are, in retrospect, just memories: at worst, modest irritants and petty annoyances. Though an old problem will occasionally return, it is rarely capable of distressing me. I am neither interested in nor intimidated by it. New confidence assures me that repairs can and will be made.

My marriage is wondrously comfortable; the children, at 40-plus, still need nurturing. They will probably never outgrow their need, but I have outgrown mine.

At age 70, I look back at all the stresses that were born of fiction, timidity and self-indulgence, skewing reality, masking truth, and I say “Humbug!” They stole my time and my energy. They made it impossible for me even to consider the kinds of challenges and priorities I cherish today.

Today, a whole new set of values inspires and motivates me. Good health--taken for granted or ignored in my youth--is a top priority. A good check-up is no longer just the backdrop for a TV commercial but a renewal of my contract to keep going. The joy of sharing and the humanity of caring, sound bites of the past, are my keys as an active participant in our world. Family, a heavy weight of obligation in the past, now lifts my sagging spirits when a day is less than sunny. A smile, a sunset, a child’s laughter, a favorite poem provide the glow and the warmth of my wonderful “shades of gray” years. These are reasons why 70 feels so good.

There are those who will say that I am getting or have gotten old. When I rise from a chair, I have been known to stumble while arthritic bones readjust to their new position. All too often, I stand in the middle of the kitchen wondering, “Did I come in here for a glass of water, an apple from the fridge, or do I need to start dinner?” I laugh at or curse my forgetfulness, depending on whether I have had a good night’s rest.

But old is a relative term, and I am not interested in being part of that family.

The dictionary has a wide range of definitions for old : “having existed long . . . not recently made . . . having lost the vigor of youth.” It is certainly true that I have not recently been made, and equally true that I have existed for a long time. But I have not lost the vigor of youth. When I play ball with my young grandson, I know the vigor is there--even though the stamina might be lagging.

The Thesaurus is blunt in its synonyms for old : “ancient, antique, archaic, obsolete.” Don’t call me “obsolete”; that means “not used.” My mind and my body are in constant use. That is why they both continue to function.

I can still hit a tennis ball, though I cannot run as I used to. I still enjoy a long walk, though my timing for the mile has been stretched. Every time I sit down at this “word processor” and play the “word game” that provides me with pleasure and fulfillment, I know my mind is working as it was meant to work. Maybe I do look up more words than I used to; perhaps I do stop and search for a lost phrase or a dropped semicolon. But misplaced words and untidy grammar keep the mind active, a fine protection against obsolescence.

My hair is white; my face has an unironed yet slightly scorched look. I do not look so wonderful at 70.

Frequently, I look into the mirror and the image there brings into focus memories of my mother. She died at 67, a tiny lady, tired and wrinkled, with clear blue eyes and curly hair. My hair and eyes are hers, but my physical and mental vigor at 70 are mine. When I was only 35 and she was 67 and ailing, I knew she was “old.” Today, however, I have to think hard to remember her as an “old” woman. During my growing-up years, her spirit was young and lively, and her determination to fight financial and physical catastrophe was vigorous. That’s what I remember most. So when my face reflects hers in the mirror, I hope and pray that my heart and my character are also her reflection.

Life is wonderful. As I turn 70, there is one thing I am committed to, one thing I have to do to keep it wonderful: I have to feel good about myself. I will not let the bad things that inevitably happen to good people destroy my spirit. There is illness and unhappiness in our family; we are not unscathed. But I will not let these things conquer my spirit.

There are few things remaining that I “have to” do. There are not many “have-tos” left. As a youngster at home, I “had to” follow the rules of my kind but rigid father. As a clergyman’s wife, I nearly drowned in the things I had to do. In both experiences, however, I accommodated and even convinced myself that the rules were sensible, practical and just.

Eight years ago, when my husband’s health required us to move from the city, we settled in San Marcos. As time went by, we moved further and further away from our former habits and “had tos.” Only now do I understand how limited my choices and my priorities were in all the prior years. At age 70, I have found freedom. Seventy really does feel better.