Now That I’m 70, Here’s What I Know for Sure

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I woke up on my 70^th birthday and my first thought was my mother. She died 18 years ago, but I felt her hovering over me, the strength of her hug. I felt like a child.

I woke up on my 70^th birthday with four children of my ow n, now grown young men in their early 30s, and my first grandchild.

I woke up on my 70^th birthday knowing I need to take good care of myself so I can wake up at 80 and 90 and beyond. Here are some other things I know for sure as I enter my seventh decade:

I will celebrate and savor the ordinary rhythm of my life. We go through our youth and midlife wanting to be better, do more, have more, to be extraordinary. At this age and stage, I know that the ticket to feeling grounded and sane is not in seeking the extraordinary. It is our ordinary routines and predictable relationships that lead to a deep and quiet happiness. This is far more fulfilling and enduring than the fleeting euphoria that comes with extraordinary.

At 70, I know that I am enough, that my life is enough, that my blessings are plentiful. I know that when we are forever seeking, we are never finding. I know that when I am in sweats, slouched on the couch, re-watching “Love Actually” for the 20th time with my husband of 37 years, I am home in the real sense. I am home in my heart.

The ordinary rhythm of life in our little worlds is a steady rudder, safe and predictable, a lifeboat in our unpredictable world.

At 70, I know to hold my best friendships close, to nurture and feed them like I do the towering, old Monsteras that have taken over my sunroom, with some leaves that span two feet and more. I know that my friend circle has grown smaller, and it is okay. I know that you cannot have 25 best friends. I know who those precious few are, the ones who are soulful insiders, history-holders, who hold my heart.

At 70, having lived more of life than that left to live, I know to spend as much time as possible with my siblings and sons and their partners and my grandchild,. I know that time is a gift, and not a given. My father died when I was only 31, not from a long illness, but unexpectedly. Four decades later, I still wince at that sudden and stunning loss.

I know that when I was young I was more centered on boyfriends and ascending in my career than spending time with my dad, the smartest and funniest person I have ever known. During our final visit in my hometown of Chicago, he wanted me to stay home, sit with him in the living room, and listen to Garrison Keillor host his “Prairie Home Companion." Instead I went on a date with a boring attorney I never saw again after that one night. My father died two months later.

At 70, I know from the many subsequent losses of loved ones to say “yes” when anyone I love deeply asks me to spend time with them. I know there is an eggshell-thin line between life and death, and that you cannot make up for lost time or a missed conversation at a funeral.

I know that what has sustained me through every chapter of this long life is that I have always had something to wake up to, work that I love, with bosses I respect, and who value me.. At 70, I know that when we keep learning, we keep growing, and that a half-century spent in journalism keeps me feeling fully awake, curious, relevant.

At 70, I am attending as many funerals as weddings, and the only thing I can count on for perpetual blooming are the flowers in my kitchen. And when these flowers are on the brink of withering, rather than wait until they are crusty, I refresh the vase with budding blossoms. My flowers of choice, are Alstroemeria, a type of lily that can last for weeks.

Every morning, when I am drinking my first cup of coffee and watching the cardinals fluttering around our bird feeders, I look at my flowers and the nearby photos of our family, and I know, that on this day, all is right in my little world.

I know the importance of letting go of grudges and stubborn standoffs with any persons we love deeply, and with whom we may be estranged. If it does not involve abuse or abandonment, we need to suck it up and say “I’m sorry” even if we are not sorry one bit. Time is ticking, and those people we are bound to by blood and history might not be around when we are ready to make up and move on.

At 70, I know that I am happy. I learned early on the art of being alone without feeling lonely. I know that we cannot count on anyone else to make us fill fulfilled and purposeful. We must do that ourselves. Loved ones die. Children leave home. The only person we can count on to go the distance is ourselves And, selves that are grounded in truth and self-love are spiritually indestructible.

At 70, I know the power of living each day with intention and urgency. I know to keep doing work I love. To ask for help when I need it. To hang out with kind people. To keep buying fresh flowers. And, to embrace my ordinary life.

 
Are any of you 70 or older? What do you know for sure? Let us know in the comments below.