I used to think 60 years old people were ancient, one foot in the grave, over the hill. Things have changed since then (including millions of covers of Lennon / McCartney’s When I’m 64). As I celebrate the last moments of being 59 I realize that I don’t feel old, I don’t act old and apart from having very little hair on my head  I don’t actually look old. Oldish maybe but old  – no way.

One of the things that seem to hit you towards sixty is nostalgia.  You start rereading the literature of your youth and surprise, surprise a lot of it is still great. Reading it again brings back memories from the past which is basically what this is all about. Not everything is the same. I tried rereading Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance and Siddhartha but found them dated (please don’t scream at me I know a lot of you out there still think they are sacred). Most of the music of my youth still sounds great (O.K. maybe YES weren’t as good as I thought they were and what was InnaGaddaDaVida really about) , even when it’s not packaged up in colorful boxes with hundreds of rarities and outtakes of John Lennon singing in the bath.

I may be sixty, but I still enjoy cartoons like a five year old, I suppose I’ll have to wait for grandchildren to have a good excuse to watch them in public, thank the Lord for DVD.  I no longer read Superman comics but still get a kick out of  wearing colorful jeans and leather jackets. Inside me is a sixteen year old Peter Pan who doesn’t want to grow up, is still stuck in the sixties and can’t understand why he has to get up every morning and commute to work when he should be at the beach listening to Jethro Tull on his Iphone.  I don’t live on my memories, but I’ve done enough over the years to feed my mind, and my blog, with exotic experiences. I’ve worked on three continents, used almost every type of transportation including a hot balloon and was even present at a live Beatle concert. True I was a small kid at the time and I couldn’t hear any of the music because of all the screaming but were you there?

So I’m sixty and haven’t gone into a deep depression yet. Maybe tomorrow. I have yet to write my great bestselling novel that all the world will talk about, but I have this blog and thousands of readers – so I feel famous. And in spite of all my hours spent with superman comics, I  still haven’t learnt how to fly, BUT I’m only sixty so who knows what tomorrow will bring. I might grow wings yet.

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