When the Alarm Bells Sound

I remember two things from a dinner not long after my 60th birthday.
My wife was out of town, so I was solo with three other couples. As the meal progressed, the hostess and I, without paying too much attention, bit by bit, nibbled our way through a chocolate babka.

The other memory relates to emotional distress I was feeling about that milestone birthday. Internally, I was hearing alarm bells, warnings about time expended and time remaining.

I quietly mentioned this to the man seated to my right, who was several years older. He acknowledged hearing similar bells when he turned 60; it’s natural, he said.

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These events came to mind during a friend’s 60th birthday party.

This is a guy who does not fit my notion of what 60 looks like. Of course, what 60 is supposed to look like changes as you age. As a teen, 60-years-old seems ancient. It steady becomes less so as you pass 30 or 45.

I remember looking carefully at my father on his 60th birthday, less than three weeks before my 21st. Thinking back, he looked older than I remember feeling when I reached 60. I can only imagine what my children have thought as I’ve aged.

Something my mother-in-law, then in her early- to mid-70s, said a dozen or so years ago has stuck with me, a comment that I think was prompted by an article she read about the future of hypersonic air travel.

Oh, the things you’ll see in your lifetime, she said.

As I approached and marked my 60th birthday, I remembered her words and found myself considering the technological advances during my life and envisioning those that my children and perhaps their children will behold.

That can make you a bit wistful.

My first column for the AJT, in February 2015, was titled, “Not in My Lifetime.” Though it dealt primarily with the chances for a lasting peace between Israel and the Palestinians, I also recounted a former co-worker’s lament “that in our lifetimes the average American would not experience spaceflight,” a prospect that fueled the imagination of countless children in the 1960s.

Not long ago, I empathized when a younger friend admitted feeling a degree of sorrow at the realization that he now was older than the athletes he watches on television. It happens to all of us, I chuckled, remembering that moment in my life and thinking it a noteworthy marker on my timeline.

More difficult is accepting that there are subjects about which you not only know little but also are unlikely to devote the time necessary to learn, that there are books you are unlikely to read, trips you’re unlikely to take, and experiences you’re unlikely to have.

On the other hand, there are subjects you will study, books you will read, trips you will take, and experiences that you will have.

Aging teaches the importance of focusing on what you will do and can do and can accomplish, rather than succumbing to dejection over what you will not or cannot do. Along with that comes an awareness that it is important to invest your time and energy in areas where you can be effective and an understanding that some issues will not be solved today, but in a tomorrow possibly beyond your horizon.

Aging teaches the importance of focusing on what you will do and can do and can accomplish, rather than succumbing to dejection over what you will not or cannot do. Along with that comes an awareness that it is important to invest your time and energy in areas where you can be effective and an understanding that some issues will not be solved today, but in a tomorrow possibly beyond your horizon.

At my friend’s 60th birthday party, he was roasted, gently, by friends of several decades standing and one made more recently. Long-term friends come with a common base of reference, of shared experiences and memories. A friend of only a couple years spoke in heartfelt tones about how fortunate he felt to form a such a friendship at this stage of life. In a restaurant full of men and women of roughly the same vintage many heads nodded in agreement.

And the eyes of more than one person in the room moistened when the guest of honor was overcome by emotion as he thanked everyone for coming. I have the best seat in the house, and everyone should get to experience that feeling, he said.

When we next get together, I’ll ask if he’s heard any of those alarm bells and, if he has, assure him that the feeling is natural and provides a valuable opportunity to assess, to gain the kind of perspective that simply is not possible when you’re younger.