I come by it honestly as entering the sixth decade moves me into the province of the crotchety and curmudgeonly. This milestone inspires reflection but not the creation of a “what I must do before I die” list. Nor am I about to deliver the typical old man’s speech, but this message is more personal than most.
Reality Sets In
When I informed people of my upcoming 60th birthday, I was inviting and expecting loud protestations that, with my good looks, I could not possibly be sixty. I was bitterly disappointed no one reacted with surprise and merely offered kind (bordering on sympathetic) birthday wishes. Apparently, the mirror more accurately reflects my ego than my appearance.
The realization I was turning 60 was sobering. When I first saw “60” decorations hanging above the table, it struck me I no longer have any ties to youth. In your fifties, you can claim adjacency to the semi-youthful forties, but there is no such comfort on the other side of the fifties.
My elder cousin talked me off the ledge by instructing me to think about the goodness in my life and reminding me that I feel no different than yesterday. Scott and I begin by appreciating we have attained an age neither of our siblings did (and the same for my wife, Cathy).
My gratitude extends far beyond the mere passage of years; I am profoundly grateful for family, friends, and companions who have nurtured me in countless ways, excellent health, good fortune, and a loving God.
Neither I nor all my experiences have been good, but everything has worked together to bring me to this appreciated time and place. Yes, I am inclined to go back and change some things, but my “corrections” would probably yield less favorable outcomes.
Obligatory, Entitled-to-Give Advice
I will not rehash the traditional “regret” items – spending too much time at the office, caring too much about other people’s opinions, leaving things untried, wasting too much time on fruitless pursuits, etc. All are true; I am guilty of most and only offer my favorite regret.
I did not order the pan-fried abalone I desperately wanted but refused to pay for at Scoma’s on San Francisco’s Fisherman’s Wharf in 1994. I do not recall what I did with the $20 I saved, nor would I remember the abalone if I had eaten it. However, even thirty years later, I cannot forget having an opportunity to indulge modestly and depriving myself.
Fortunately, the deprivation was minor, and the experience taught an enduring lesson. The memory makes it easier to say yes to some indulgences I am predisposed to refuse.
My Intention
You have heard the standard advice to think about what we want people to say at our funeral and to live living accordingly. I am concerned this advice might cause us to worry too much about what others think of us. My concern is magnified based on what my family and friends say to my face. How can I be sure they will say something kind when I am staring at the ceiling?
However, considering the end provides helpful guidance. Rather than eulogies, I recommend contemplating the content of your funeral slide show – the pictures of beloved people during cherished times that scroll on the screen before our funeral service.
Besides a cameo appearance, many things we spend so much time chasing, jobs, houses, cars, boats, investments, etc., are not featured in slide shows. In the end, they are not treasured.
The value of an interpersonal experience is difficult to quantify; feelings, not formulas, measure it. It is the difference in your emotions when walking hand-in-hand with your (grand)child compared to viewing your best investment return report.
I will not carry a selfie stick or become an Instagram boyfriend. It is not about pictures but the meaningful subject matter of my life – people and experiences. There will be more trips to visit family, dinners with friends, and investments in supporting others.
Let us be very intentional about what we do and who we do it with.
