Turning 70
Don't worry about the future cause it doesn't care about you.
Every decade, I like to review my progress as a human being, to see if I’ve met the benchmarks I had set for myself, and to create new ones for the years ahead.
It’s not that easy when a person gets older. I can’t, for example, take up a new sport given the degree to which my joints have deteriorated. To me, a new sport might be being able to climb the stairs without injury, walk through the store without the aid of a shopping cart and not fart when picking up a bag from the floor.
When I look back at my 60s, I am so proud of my progress. At the beginning of my sixth decade, I realized that I had left so many things unfinished. This is a common predicament for a neurodivergent who starts a task only for someone to shout “squirrel” and they are done for.
When I turned 60, I took up the goal to finish a bunch of important things. I got a pardon for a very stupid accident that took place in my 30s. That cost me two years, and thousands of dollars, but now I can honestly proclaim that I no longer have a criminal conviction for which I did not receive a pardon. It doesn’t help much for traveling to Japan, as Paris Hilton and Paul McCartney discovered, and it doesn’t let you off the hook going to the States because I am a terrible liar. I’m sure if I got to the border, they would get it out of me — but for now I don’t care because Trump is in the White House and I have no interest in watching a cage match and the subsequent public executions he’s planning for that space after the 250th celebrations.
Secondly, I got my degree from Carleton University a full 40 years after dropping out with one credit left to finish. Now, you might think that would be an easy task, but you wouldn’t be the School of Journalism, or whatever it’s called now, which told me that the unfortunately named Bachelor of Journalism (BJ) was no longer a bona fide university degree. Undeterred, I set out to brow beat nearly the entire faculty and they finally gave me a Bachelor of Arts free of charge. It just goes to show that my journalism training was a complete success — just pester someone until they finally give up and hand you a piece of paper.
Next, I set out to satisfy a request from my reading public by writing a book, Distressed Pavement, which was based on tall tales that I made up. It was followed by the popular Party Girls, which detailed my working life in politics and journalism. I am proud to say both books were instant bestsellers among my friends.
Then I got two good government contracts related to subjects for which I had no qualifications whatsoever, followed by a period of unemployment during the pandemic. At which time, I got cancer. And it all fell apart.
Two years later, I rallied, and landed the job I have today, which pays me less money than when I was picking fruit in the 1960s. It’s a fun job which allows me to call up anybody important over the age of 55 and ask for an interview. Which beings me full circle back to the job I had in my 20s, before the pardon, and the books, and the kids, and the marriages.
Upon reflection, I believe I have completed all the tasks as written in my day timer.
Now it’s time to turn my attention to my 70s.
What will the future bring?
I’ve decided to stop making plans because at this age, one never knows what the future will hold. Maybe I’ll become an Instagram star or a reality television host. Maybe I’ll retire to Italy and eat pizza until my heart gives out.
Maybe I’ll start a podcast or write another book. Who knows?
What I learned in my 60s is everything is possible if you put your mind to it. All you have to try.
And that is today’s lesson, boys and girls.
Never give up. Even when you get sick or sore or down.
There is always another piece of cake on the horizon. Or a grandchild to hug. Or a dog to walk.
At this age, we don’t need big titles or paycheques. We just need friends, family and Facebook.
Don’t worry about the future cause the future doesn’t worry about you.
