This past week I turned 60 and it was causing me a great deal of anxiety. I typically don’t care much about my age, but 60 seems so daunting, so significant, so important. How did I get here? What have I done? All the typical existential crap. Also, coming at as part of the pandemic gives it greater weight. The past year and a half have been lost. I wanted to take advantage of this time to make things, learn new skills, and better myself. Instead, it was about getting by, about surviving, and about staying sane. So, now I am old. Officially.
Anyhow, I decided to have a nice low-key celebration, starting the weekend with our first venture out to see live music (FACS at the Empty Bottle) in some time. I can’t say I was 100 percent comfortable the entire time, but it was good to be out and good to hear music. The rest of the weekend was made up of lawn care, friends, cookouts, beach, reading “The Death of Ivan Illyich”, and pasta with meatballs. It was ideal and soothing. Getting older should be that easy. At the end of it all, Emily gave me the greatest gift of all. She had reached out to people I have known at various dots on the 60-year timeline and asked them to send me postcards. I love mail. I love the US postal service. I love sending and getting letters, cards, and packages. I got cards, lots and lots of cards. They came from all around the world and from people I have known, some I kind of know, and some I want to know. This year has contained much nostalgia. This was the perfect marker for turning 60. Emily and my kids did this all without me knowing anything about it, all while I was with them the entire time. That is astonishing. They are simply the best, better than all the rest.
So here are most of them. And Will Smith. Yes, Will Smith.