Many baby boomers who grew up during the 1960s have exciting stories to tell about their sex life, their drug escapades, their Woodstock experience, their protest days. Not me.
I can tell you what I did not do: I did not experiment with drugs. Drugs do not like my body. In my early 20s I had all four wisdom teeth removed. At the time the procedure involved a hospital stay of several days and full anesthesia. Twenty-four hours following surgery, I was still unconscious. If I abused drugs I would have been a 60’s casualty, either dead or rocking back and forth in an institution. Or, like some students I attempted to teach at a business school, their brains fried from drugs, their memory permanently damaged, they could not remember how to perform a simple math function from one day to the next.
Sex was another major theme of the 60’s. I did not experience a wild sex life during the sixties, or at any time in my life. My friends and I were naïve compared to today’s younger generations. We weren’t supposed to do ituntil marriage. But we learned fast. No one walked down the aisle a virgin, unless religiously conservative.
I did not date until halfway through high school. My boyfriend at the time escorted me to my junior and senior proms. I broke up with him, and even now feel guilty. A good friend of ours stated, “The problem with you two was that you met too early.” Maybe.
When I got engaged my aunt offered her advice, “Whatever you do, finish college.” And I did. Nowadays most college graduates do not immediately walk down the aisle to a life as a couple. I wonder how different my life would have been if I remained single for a few years after graduation, versus what my twenties were all about – marriage and kids.
My husband and I have been married for over 50 years. We have weathered economic downturns, mastered the art of surviving on a tight budget, progressed from buying marked down fruits and vegetables on Saturday evening at the local produce store, to enjoying a comfortable lifestyle, no longer tied down by jobs, or kids, or too limited resources. We eat out often (too frequently, I admit), travel occasionally, visit the kids regularly, and are involved in community activities. But my energy level and stamina have diminished over the years. Late nights are an anomaly that I pay for as I drift, glaze-eyed, through the following day.
My mature body did not betray me, thankfully, when I spent 10 days on a trip with my 13-year-old granddaughter. Every day we tackled two or three energetic activities, fun and enjoyable for the youngster, somewhat daunting for me. My exhaustion by dinner each evening was countered by my granddaughter’s enthusiasm to discuss the day, enjoy a lecture or movie, play a board game, or simply read. I settled into bed, opened a book, and did not get past a couple of pages before sleep triumphed. Rising each morning to begin again proved challenging. But I endured and created memories that are…priceless.
Each day is an opportunity to stretch my mind and body physically and mentally, slowly get up (I’m a senior, I don’t jump up anymore), and press on. A friend of mine in her nineties was asked how she does it – always on the move, her mind sharp. Her response, “if I stop moving, people will think I’m dead.”
I keep moving. Regrets, some. But grateful to be me today.