The Bearable Lightness of Being 60(ish)

It's that time of year again - swarms of candy heart box buyers cramming the aisles at CVS, desperate husbands searching for the right card (that will do the trick), kids developing cavities from their 37th sweet treat. Then there are the 60-year-old ladies roaming the aisles, smiling a fake half-smile, barely recalling what it felt like to receive a Valentine.

Don't get me wrong. I called this bearable lightness because it is. What a joy it is to to walk by a construction site without fear of whistlers blasting our ear drums, or converse with the male boss and actually hold his gaze. The days of questioning why we were hired (looks) are gone. Our voices are heard. We are respected!

Sort of. I am finding that at times, if I look particularly dowdy that day, I am treated with disdain. Not only from men but women. I recently arrived breathless, cold, disheveled to a job, was treated like a bag lady, and a couple days later tested positive for Covid. In the few minutes I interacted with the higher-up, I could tell my appearance was causing me to be prejudged. This is why 61-year-olds get stylists and plastic surgery, I suppose.

Men my age are not dealing with any of this. If no longer hunky and virile, they are at least chunky and feral. They don't wane in the way we do. They may die at an earlier age, but while they're around they are still scoring with the babes.

So what's an older gal to do on Valentine's Day? Adopt her 13th cat? Eat three pints of Ben & Jerry's? Hogwash. Walk, swim, ski, play tennis, jog, hike! Exercise is the antidote for the blues, will get and keep you fit, and who knows might attract that gentleman caller after all. Yep, the one who picked up your ball or opened the court gate for you ... or laughed when you said you couldn't get up.

Photo: The author, Mustang Beach, age 55

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