Age is just a number, they say (they who?). I have a schizophrenic view of my age. I recently turned 65 years old, which probably qualifies me as a geezer. It definitely qualifies me for Medicare.
For my 60th birthday, I bought myself a bikini and started to run half-marathons. I love the outdoors. I ride my bike, float in my kayak, and like to learn new things. I am afraid of the dark, and I have a deathly fear of getting lost. One of the things I’ve discovered about myself that I’m not too happy about is many of the anxieties that have bubbled up lately.
Now that I’ve added “geezer” to my repertoire, I’m not sure how to act. But, come to think of it, I’ve been a geezer-in-training all my life, so, what’s the big deal? I’m not a different person just because the calendar changed to another year, am I?
This blog will chronicle my life as an aging baby boomer in a world that loves youth. The more I write, the younger I feel. Yet, young at heart does not count in this land, where the number of boomers rises every day. I write to bare arms, and it doesn’t matter who is looking, or who isn’t.
Happy birthday to all of us, and many many more! Geezer goddesses rule.