Turning sixty is not the end of the world. As a matter of fact, I believe it’s just the beginning, and certainly something to celebrate. And I ought to know, based on personal experience.
Not that I’ve ever turned sixty before. But when I turned fifty, magic happened. Full disclosure–my thirties weren’t so great. My forties were a nightmare. I wasn’t sure I would even make it to fifty. But the closer I got to fifty, the more I began to look forward to it. If nothing else, at least it would signify the end of the decade from hell.
I was so excited about turning fifty that my girlfriends threw me a party, complete with a red tiara. This was an idea borrowed from the Red Hat Society. You know, the group of women who mark their fiftieth birthday by wearing a red...