I have somehow reached the age of 60 and I'm not sure how I feel about that.
60 is the start of 'old', or at least it used to be. As a child I remember looking at 60 year-olds as kindly wizened souls with grey hair and pension books, indeed I never knew any of my grandparents as anything less than 60-somethings. Now I suddenly appear to be as old as they were, and I would ask how the hell did that happen but I've always known it was coming, just preferred not to think about it.
60 is a milestone age and a proper one for once. 50 was fine, 50 was just a half-century, it didn't mean anything. 40 was merely a number to make the middle-aged feel uncomfortable, nothing tangible actually happened. 30 was an inconsequential blur that only a vain 29 year-old could ever be flustered by. But hit 60 and things are different, there are actual changes to the way you're treated.
60 is the first time my age has genuinely meant something since I was in my teens. 16 meant I could shag, 17 meant I could drive and 18 meant I could drink and vote. But after 18 any age-related benefits were generally minor, like being able to go to better nightclubs or get an HGV licence. 60 is suddenly a properly significant birthday again, which after 42 years of insignificance comes as a bit of a jolt.
60 is when the state starts to offer you rewards in recognition of your age. Been paying for your prescriptions? You can stop that now. Been paying for your eye tests. No need any more. I'm fine with that, it's nice to get something back for once, even if it's really a nod to a less healthy future.
60 is also when society starts to offer you rewards in recognition of your age. Suddenly you're a 'Senior' and all sorts of nice little concessions kick in like cheaper haircuts, cut price cinema tickets, £4 off admission at Coventry Transport Museum or 10% off shopping at Iceland on a Tuesday. Not everywhere is so generous, so for example Kew Gardens and the Tower of London make you wait until you're 65 and the London Eye charges everyone over 16 the same. But before today I would never even have bothered to look at the Concessions tab and now suddenly it might be well worth it. (ooh, National Trust Senior Membership is 25% off the normal subscription and I am now eligible, that's how useful checking rewards for today's post has been)
60 also opens up the possibility of a new social life. All sorts of community groups exist for the over 60s, a chance to meet up or chat or do some sort of activity, all as a counter to the perceived loneliness those of older years may face. We even have our own men's group round here, the Bow Geezers, and they appear to be having a cheerily excellent time every time they meet up but I could have joined that at 55 and I didn't.
60 also means free travel as a Londoner. I am not interested in discussing this today, I've already written a post about it and will write another soon so you can discuss it there. Please I beg of you, do not waste your breath wittering about 60+ cards in the comments today, indeed I'd be obliged if you could give me this one special birthday present and keep utterly silent on the subject.
60 is just a number with a zero on the end, a number we choose to see as special. I was going to say that it's only special because we count in 10s but in fact it'd have a zero on the end if we counted in 2s, 3s, 4s, 5s, 6s, or 12s instead, indeed of all the years in the human lifespan it's the year with the greatest number of factors so maybe that means it really is fundamentally special after all.
Being precisely 60 sees you sitting on a societal dividing line, finely balanced between everyone who's already sailed past 60 and those looking ahead to a ceiling they have yet to cross.
60 is when older people start to welcome you to their world. "See," they say, "it's not so bad. 60 was nothing, it's 70 you need to worry about... or 75/80 depending. 60 is merely piddly foothills, we need not speak of it, but by the way welcome to the club."
60 is when younger people see you pass over the hill and slip beyond a geriatric veil. They see a 6 at the start of someone's age and think "ooh that's old, indeed impossibly old, almost shuffling to the grave, I hope I'm never that old"... when in fact they mean quite the opposite.
60 was once the start of the countdown towards death. When I was born in 1965 the average life expectancy for men was about 68, indeed neither of my grandfathers got past 70. It's very different today, thankfully, with the ONS website confirming that the average 60 year-old male has a life expectancy of 84 with a 1 in 4 chance of reaching 92. The Grim Reaper's still coming, indeed could cut you down anytime, but he's a lot further away than previous generations expected.
60 was once the moment some pensions kicked in, that generous moment you were offered regular financial payback on the basis you wouldn't be around to collect it for long. Now we're living longer that's been kicked back, in terms of state pension to 67 and stretching further later, so no longer the employment guillotine it used to be nor the dawn of pipe and slippers leisure.
60 can be where your health takes a gradual turn for the worse. Little things work less well, awkward inconveniences intrude and it perhaps becomes harder to enjoy things you once took for granted. In my case it was 55 before the teensiest signs of age first kicked in, still merely niggles at present but with the potential to one day properly scupper things, though I fervently hope I'll be able to get to 70 and say they still haven't.
Hitting 60 today means I've now been bringing you this blog across four decades of my life. I started out as a fresh-faced Londoner in my mid-30s, continued through the working days of my 40s, persisted as most blogs fell by the wayside in my 50s and am now about to open a window on life in my 60s. Same person, different ages, evolving viewpoints.
I used my Senior Railcard for the first time yesterday to take me to the Essex village where my grandmother met my grandfather. She was the cleaner in the pub and he was the dishy postman on his daily rounds, and she'd lean out of the window for a chat and that's how it all started. It's a restaurant now and sadly wasn't open so I couldn't go in, but I did pause for a while and ponder the significance of the windows that led to my Mum being born and me being here today. In particular it made me realise that the elderly couple I'd only known in their 60s were once young and playful and hopeful and happy, and you should never judge people on how old they are now but on a lifetime of achievement.
In reality 60 is just a staging post in the calendar, the start of the transition to old, whatever that even means. You can be in denial of it or you can embrace it, because far better to have reached 60 than never to have got this far.
60 is strange because for everyone else it's just a normal Sunday whereas for me and the other 2350 Britons born on 9th March 1965 it's a potential existential crisis.
60 is an unwelcome eyeopener. 60 is well special. 60 is nothing. 60 is what you make of it.
