Did you ever get the feeling youre being rushed?
This thought came to me as I read probably the 500th article regarding the fact that baby boomersthose of us born between 1946 and 1964begin turning 60 this year. Apparently this is BIG NEWS, as if, like lemmings, we have finally reached the edge of the cliff and the cohort as begun to jump off. Or, more exactly, fall off after being pushed. Having been born in 1955, Ive got another decade before I reach the front of this particular line, but Im feeling both a little bad for those going before me (kind of the Wally Cleavers to my Beaver, if you know what I mean), and a little anxious myself. After all, the media sure is making a big deal about how the first batch of boomers are pretty much riding off into the sunset and, if my next 10 years go as fast as my first 50, it wont be long before Im there. Its like they want to give us our Lifetime Achievement Award, but were not ready to accept it just yet. All of this has forced me to do a lot of thinking (something Im not particularly fond of, thank you very much). Sometimes, I simply ponder how my view of time has altered since more than half of the sands in my personal hour glass of existence likely have long since spilled to the bottom. Now I find myself wincing when one of my sons, none of whom having yet surpassed his teen years, expresses impatience that time isnt passing quite fast enough, as in “I cant wait until summer” or “Arent you ready for a retirement home yet?” (Okay, I may have exaggerated one of those.) But, the point is, Ive become a patient man of late. Im in no hurry. About anything. Ive also begun to reassess those goals Ive been keeping tucked away in the hopes of pursuing right after I establish firm financial footing. (Yeah, I know. Mr. Visa and Ms. Mastercard got a good laugh at that one.) Ive now accepted the fact that Ill not likely play in the NBA, or run for president. I might still write The Great American Novel, but it will be in big print so I can read it. And if I have any hopes of starring in the screen adaptation, Id better write something along the lines of Cocoon or Driving Miss Daisy. What was the point, anyway? (More and more often Im finding myself asking, uh, myself, that question.) Oh, yeah. Someone needs to tell those young whippersnappers that we boomers are not quite ready to go gently (or quietly, as long as Mick Jagger and the Stones can work up enough energy for a national tour and a halftime show at the Super Bowl) into that good night. Our folks may have saved the world from Hitler and the Soviet Union, but were the ones who came up with Grecian Formula, Rogaine, liposuction, and Viagra, just to name a few miracle efforts to delay the aging process. So just cool your jets and wait awhile. Well be gone soon enough, and subsequent generations will be welcome to whatever we leave behind. (By the way, dont believe a word anyone tells you about environmental degradation or global warming. Theyre just mad because were having so much fun.) To paraphrase Hugo (played by Bobby Rydell) in Bye, Bye Birdie, “Weve (still) got a lot of livin to do.”
