As a kid, I thought someone who was 65 was really old. I mean… not just a little old, but really old. I figured that I’d start getting old somewhere in the upper 30’s or 40’s because I heard people I knew in that age range talk about getting over the hill and decrepit and all of that. Mostly, the black birthday balloons and jokes about new aches and pains were done in jest, I thought, but I could tell they were getting more and more aware of their impending “old age.” Some didn’t seem to mind, but others seemed to want to deny the aging process with wonder diets, hair dyes, and every bottle of Rogain they could find. (These were pre-botox days.)
This weekend, my dad celebrated his 65th birthday. He and mom were driving through within 50 miles of town on the way home from a church planting leaders retreat, so they decided to stop. We got to have cake, but there were no black balloons and hardly any “old man” jokes at all! I don’t know how he feels about all of it, but I noticed something… I don’t think of 65 as really old any more. Maybe a little old, but not really old. And at 42, while I admit to moving a little slower some of the time, I don’t think I’m as old as I thought I would be by now! My grandpa turns 89 next month and I’d bet that up until some health issues started kicking him around the last few years, he didn’t think he was old either.
It’s interesting how perspective changes isn’t it?
What has changed your mind lately?