Transitions at 67

The old paradigm is gone. It seems people no longer consider age a boundary marker. It used to be that “retirement” was regulated by years. Now we say, “Sixty is the new forty.” One student, who discovered my age, in an obvious lapse of decorum, intoned that I was “older than his parents.” Yeah. That seems about right. More recently I was referred to as a “person of a certain age.” I asked for an explanation. “It’s a way of *not* suggesting someone is older,” was the response. I laughed. How we twist our language! Still more have suggested I am not “old” but “older.” Which just makes me laugh again. My children told me seven years ago, “Dad, you’re a *young* sixty.” After due reflection, I think I’ll stick with that clarification.

A new paradigm has arrived. When I have told people that I was hired for a new position, not one person mentioned age. In fact, no one has suggested a transition to a new job depends on age. To a degree, I wonder if people may have come to realize that age has advantages. For instance, I seem to have exhibited expertise and experience enough to warrant the position for which I’m now employed. It strikes me that in the same way we should not view people based on an identity, class, gender, religion, or ethnicity, neither should we consider age as a parameter for workforce participation. Much less life participation.

Still, to be transitioning to a new academic position seems quite odd. To me, at least. It feels cumbersome to weigh the options of age in comparison to when I was younger. True, I don’t have as much energy as I used to. Yet I seem to accomplish more now than then. True, I don’t look like I used to. But honestly, folks just don’t seem to care about “looks.” True, I have lost a lot along the way. My focus has narrowed so I don’t participate in varied activities. I’ve “lost” jobs which turned out to be something good later. I’ve lost abilities; my eyesight has diminished but the list is long, so I’ll stop there. And I’ve “lost” my son (some would say), the thought or mention of his person floods my eyes.

And, perhaps, that will be the transition I anticipate the most, being with him again. Robin has said, through tears, “Tyler would be so proud of you.” I know Chelsea is, Robin too. And the rest of the family. So maybe this transition has the possibility of being the best one yet. Who knows. Tomorrow, according to calendars, I “turn” 67. I don’t feel it, think it, or see it when I look in the mirror. And maybe that’s the best transition. To be on to the next thing. To care for as many people as I can, to research and teach and write and speak as best as I can, with the strength and life given to me. Tomorrow will be another day, another God-given opportunity. Just another transition.