I thought growing old would take longer.
— Unknown
This blog post was inspired by a recent conversation in the office. Someone had celebrated their birthday and there followed a good deal of friendly banter as people shared their respective ages. I smiled, knowing I was easily the oldest in the room. I asked one of my colleagues how old she thought I was. She declined to guess but her surprise at learning I’d just turned sixty-four was immediate and genuine. I asked again how old she’d imagined I was. She hesitated, then offered fifty. (Thank you, Sophie, you made my day!)
This has happened before. On a Teams call in the first weeks of lockdown in 2020 a different colleague flatly refused to believe I was fifty-nine. They were so adamant I found myself counting it out on my fingers just to be sure.
In the office, the conversation turned to the inevitable question. How can I possibly look so much younger than my years? Sophie said I seemed to have a pretty relaxed lifestyle, which was a lovely thing to hear. I suggested that what she sees as relaxed, some might call small, or boring. I rarely go anywhere or do anything beyond work and blogging. Most of my excitement and adventure is gained vicariously from the lives and experiences of my friends. It’s also true that much of my apparent calm comes from ignoring things that really need my attention.
My lifestyle nevertheless suits me, and I’m glad it appears positive from the outside. I should add that my team mates suggested my youthful looks are better attributed to the fact I spend so much time in coffee shops, away from the damaging effects of sunlight. I could only agree!
The entire exchange took no more than five minutes, but it lifted my mood considerably. More fundamentally, it set me thinking about the whole “getting old” question. I was surprised to realise it’s a topic I’ve never explored, here on the blog or anywhere else.
Workplace and Retirement
I’m the oldest in my team at work, my boss included, and older than most people in senior roles. Aside from simply having worked there for a long time — I marked thirty years continuous service in 2023 — this reflects my lack of career progression and ambition. I was a team lead for years but am now content to play the elder statesman role with no managerial or leadership responsibilities. I was called “a legend” recently, with no obvious sense of irony. It’s a polite way of saying “you know stuff cos you’ve been here longer than anyone else!”
The flip side is that I can no longer ignore the prospect of retirement, despite protestations to the contrary from my colleagues. Tony’s “No way!” and Sophie’s “You can’t retire, I’ve only just met you!” are compelling, but realistically I have no more than two or three years left. The thought of retiring doesn’t make me feel old, but it’s an impending milestone that will mark the closing of one major phase of my life and the opening up of another. It’s something I need to pay more attention to, specifically with regards my pension provision and what I might want to do in my retirement.
Milestone Birthdays
Speaking of milestones, I’ve never been one to make much fuss about keynote birthdays. I did nothing special for my eighteenth. I turned twenty-one at university, celebrating the occasion with a quiet meal with my two closest friends. There was also a house party — the only adult birthday party I’ve had or wanted — but that was more my housemates’ idea than mine. Twenty-five, thirty, forty, all passed me by. I celebrated them at the time with friends and family, but they didn’t feel significant as such.
I remember visiting my mother in 2011 just after my fiftieth birthday. She’d decorated the hallway of the house with balloons and a banner celebrating my age. I appreciated the effort but couldn’t engage with the idea of it as a meaningful achievement. A fiftieth birthday is what happens when you’ve been alive that many years. It’s very much how I felt about my three decades of continuous service at work. Thirty years in essentially the same role didn’t feel that much of an achievement to me. As I wrote at the time, it felt like what happens when you never pushed yourself to find something better. The years pass and you’re still here.
Reaching sixty did feel significant. It’s still just a marker at the side of the road, but it’s hard to ignore the fact that sixty is quite a big number. It’s certain I’ve lived more of my life than there is left to me.
Health and Life Expectancy
I’ve never been what anyone would call fit, and I carry more weight these days than I’m happy with, but I have no specific health issues and I’m not on any medication. I enjoy a pint but I don’t drink excessively. I’ve never smoked or taken recreational drugs. My only significant health issue was a ten day hospitalisation in 1990 for abdominal pain and bleeding. I was on anti-inflammatory medication for a couple of years but I’ve had no major flare-ups since then. Aware of the potential risk of prostate cancer in men of my age, in 2021 I made my first doctor’s appointment in some thirty years. I was nervous about the tests but they came back negative.
My mother died at the age of ninety-two, but the men in my family don’t live so long. I’m unsure of my father’s age when he died in 1979 but I was only eighteen. His brother, my Uncle Jack, outlived him by no more than a few years.
The UK Office of National Statistics (ONS) estimates the average life expectancy for a man in my situation as eighty-five, with a one in four chance of reaching ninety-two, and a one in ten chance of reaching ninety-six. The BBC How Long Are You Going to Live? calculator suggests an average life expectancy of eighty-six (compared with eighty-nine for a woman of the same age). Another UK website suggests that for men my age currently in good health, three in four will live to eighty-six, half will live to ninety-two, and one in four will live to ninety-seven. The US-based Northwestern Mutual Lifespan Calculator includes medical and lifestyle factors including diet, exercise, smoking, and drinking habits. It estimates my life expectancy as eighty-nine.
Taking these estimates with the proverbial pinch of salt, I can hope to live to at least eighty-five (another twenty-one years of life), with late eighties or even ninety being not entirely unrealistic.
My Friends
I mentioned colleagues but what about my friends? Most of my current friends are younger than me. I have close friends in their 30s, 40s, 50s, and 60s. On any given day I might chat with friends three decades apart in age, with no difference in the nature of our conversations or friendships. I think that’s healthy. We each bring our individual ideas, view, and experiences to the table but we relate on the basis of who we are now rather than our relative longevity. I have friends little more than half my age who’ve experienced more of life — good, bad, adventure, challenge, achievement, and trauma — and learned more from it than I have or ever will. My life is immeasurably richer for knowing people whose lives span the generations.
Generational Stereotypes
Mention of generations brings me to generational stereotypes. According to one website “a generation is a group of people born in the same time period. They grow up in identical social and political conditions. Usually they have similar traits, preferences, and values.” The website lists the following generations.
- Lost Generation (1883 – 1900)
- Greatest Generation (1901 – 1927)
- Silent Generation (1928 – 1945)
- Baby Boomers (1946 – 1964)
- Generation X (1965 – 1980)
- Millennials (Gen Y) (1981 – 1995)
- Generation Z (1996 – 2009)
- Generation Alpha (2010 – present)
I was born in 1961, which labels me a Baby Boomer. You can read about the supposed characteristics of Baby Boomers here but I find such stereotypes about as useful and relevant to me as astrology (Pisces) or Myers-Briggs (INFJ). Which is to say, not at all.
How Old Is Old?
It’s nice that people can’t believe I’m as old as I say, but I actually am sixty-four. What does that mean? What does it feel like to be me at this particular point in my life? What’s it like to live in this sixty-four year old body? In — or with — this sixty-four year old mind? The first thing to say is that I don’t feel old. But that only dodges the question. What does old mean, anyway? What does it mean to be old? How old is old?
Sixty-four was the age chosen by Lennon and McCartney in the song sung originally by the Beatles. (I much prefer this cover version by the Mona Lisa Twins.) “Will you still need me,” they ask, “will you still feed me, when I’m sixty-four?” I’m still loved and fed, so I guess I’m not doing too badly.
What about my take on the matter? What does old mean to me? In my 2003 short story “And Men Myrtles” the principal character, William (Bill) Stokes, is repeatedly presented as an old man.
He turned away, as shocked as the boys at the desperate anger in his voice. They had taken him, no doubt, an old man kneeling in the dirt, for an easy target.
[...]
He felt himself being swept up into the darkness but he was afraid to open his eyes in case the crowd had noticed him sat there. In case she had noticed him sat there: an old man on a cemetery bench. Decrepit. Pathetic.
[...]
William was fifty-three years old, perhaps a dozen fewer than he appeared to casual observance.
Bill is eleven years younger than I am now but his demeanour — grumpy, flawed, and decrepit — is how I imagined someone in their mid-sixties might look. I wonder if I’d write it differently today.
How I Do Sixty-Four
If I come across as younger than my years, why is that? I wear my hair long. It’s turning grey but there’s still plenty of natural colour there. (I’ve nothing against people dying their hair at any age, but I won’t be reaching for the Grecian 2000 any time soon.) I wear t-shirts that boldly proclaim my favourite bands (RØRY and AMT) and love of writing. These are often matched with one of my BOYS GET SAD TOO hoodies. The hoodies are a way for me to keep the mental health message going, plus they remind me and others that yes, this boy gets sad too.
Does all this project “younger than sixty-four”? I don’t know. Maybe. I’m okay with that, but I’m not consciously trying to hide my age. I dress to feel comfortable, rather than to beguile onlookers.
Physically, I’m starting to “feel my age” as the saying goes. I take a short walk most days when I’m at home, but I walk much less than I used to. In the past I’d relish a twenty minute walk as part of my commute to and from the office. Now, I ride the extra stop on the train instead. I tell myself it’s because I carry a laptop now, but it’s more because the walk holds less appeal than it used to.
That lack of appeal carries into other things I used to do, such as taking myself into the city centre at the weekend, to the coast, or on other local adventures. These days I prefer spending my free time writing in my local coffee shop. I explored this last year in The Joy of Missing Out.
I ask myself this question [what shall I do this weekend] almost every week. The answer seldom varies: coffee and scribbles. It’s worth the time it takes to check in with myself, though. To make sure that writing for four or five hours at the coffee shop is how I want to spend my day, and not simply a routine I’ve fallen into. There are a few exceptions. [...] If you’re looking for me on a Saturday, though, it’s a safe bet I’ll be at Costa Coffee. It’s where almost all my blog posts are written, this one included.
Is this an age thing? A depression thing? A something else thing? Perhaps. It seems to be where I am at the moment. Not necessarily for always, but for now. It’s not that I’ve lost interest in life, but I’ve come to realise a life lived well doesn’t depend on how much you do or how many places you visit. Not for me, anyway.
Not everyone would agree, I know. News of friends and former workmates who have died or are very ill inspired one of my colleagues to focus on fitting more into their own life. Holidays. Trips. Experiences. As they told me, they don’t want to put things off ten years or even five, if they can do them now. I get what they mean, but it’s not how I see things. I’ve never had a bucket list and see no reason to start one now.
For me, a good life can be lived small. It can be lived vicariously. It can be lived in and through the conversations and exchanges I have daily with friends, no matter where they are, how old they are, or how old I am.
The Wisdom of the Aged
Having reached the ripe old age of sixty-four and the status of legend [!] I must surely have amassed a great deal of experience and wisdom. A little, perhaps. “A good life can be lived small” would be one. Another would be something along the lines of “there is no ultimate purpose or meaning, so find what joy you may in the years you have.” That one owes more than a little to the Absurdism of Albert Camus. It’s valid for me, nonetheless.
Beyond those, I’m not sure. What is wisdom to one person may be folly to someone else. Fran and I share our thoughts and experience regarding mental health and supportive friendships in our book and on our blog, but we recognise that what works for us might not be helpful or relevant for others. Our wisdom is offered not as a set of instructions to be followed but more like a menu from which people are welcome to select what resonates with them.
Looking Forward
I’m grateful to Sophie and my other colleagues for inspiring this exploration. I’ve written a lot more than I anticipated, and yet I’m scarcely any more aware of what it means to be sixty-four than I was at the beginning. I’m here. I’m me. What more is there? What more could there be?
As to the future? Well, I can reasonably expect between twenty and twenty-five more years of life. What, I wonder, will they contain? What new things are there for me to experience and learn? What new friends are there out there for me to meet? What joys, disappointments, happinesses, and sorrows?
They say only two things are certain in life: death and taxes. In my case there’s one more. I will retire within the next two or three years. Beyond the fact of that milestone, I have no specific expectations, goals, or ambitions. I’ve never been someone who looked ahead and made plans. The past twenty years — to put a rough number on it — have been amongst the richest and most rewarding of my life, and yet nothing about them was planned or even dreamt of in advance. May the next twenty plus years be as rich and unanticipated!
Death, of course, is certain. Recognising that we’re each moving into the later phase of our lives, Fran and I began thinking seriously about end of life planning last year. That might sound morbid but I’ve found it just the opposite. There’s a lot more to think through and put in place but it feels good to have made a start. For more information and ideas check out my blog posts End of Life Planning for the Overwhelmed and Preparing to Write My Obituary.
And Finally
In the course of writing this blog post I came across several quotations on ageing or getting old. I changed the opening quote several times, each time for words which seemed more appropriate to my situation. Here are a few which didn’t quite make the grade, but which I love nonetheless. Thanks to Aimee for the first one.
If you live to be a hundred, I want to live to be a hundred minus one day so I never have to live without you.
— Joan Powers, Pooh’s Little Instruction Book
You still haven’t met all of the people who are going to love you.
— Unknown
Life’s journey is not to arrive at the grave safely, in a well preserved body, but rather to skid in sideways, totally worn out, shouting “Holy shit, what a ride!”
— Hunter S. Thompson
I thought growing old would take longer.
— Unknown
This word “anti-aging” has to be struck. I am pro-aging. I want to age with intelligence, and grace, and dignity, and verve, and energy. I don’t want to hide from it.
— Jamie Lee Curtis
Steve is not getting smarter as he gets older. He is just running out of stupid things to do.
— In Otter News
Over to You
In this post I’ve explored what being sixty-four means to me, and the idea of ageing in general. How do you feel about these topics? What does “getting old” mean to you? Do you dread older age or embrace its arrival? We’d love to hear from you, either in the comments below or via our contact page.
Photo by Jeff Sheldon at Unsplash.
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