Jackson - Between a rock and a hot place: why fifty is not the new thirty

Between a Rock and a HotPlace

Why Fifty Is Not theNew Thirty

Tracey Jackson

Dedication

For Glenn, Taylor, and Lucy

For Taylor, Lucy, and Glenn

For Lucy, Glenn, and Taylor

So you know I love you all the same...

Contents

F ifty is the new thirty has become the mantra of delusional baby boomers unwilling to relinquish their youth. Endless magazine articles, photos, and even T-shirts declaring this absurd theory have been appearing ever since the first of the millions of boomers started celebrating their fiftieth birthday with a colonoscopy and a membership card from AARP.

Considering that by the year 2025 there will be more than thirty million Americans over the age of sixty-five, boomers are at the beginning of the not so long, not remotely slow march into old age. Many boomers are already there. Those of us who are fifty are the youngsters in the boomer group. Old age, according to most charts, starts at sixty. You can retire at fifty-five, you can move into a retirement community (also known as a senior citizens community or the more euphemistic mature persons community) once you turn fifty, and many people can start collecting their pensions in their early fifties.

So despite the chorus of boomers yelling, Were actually thirty! the universes compass seems to be pointing us directly toward old age, and it will be only about five years before many of us get there.

The image most of us have of being over fiftyor old, if you willis our grandparents. Regardless of how much we loved them, most of us find the notion of turning into them intolerable.

Based on this fact alone, you can begin to see how the delusional concept arose. Thousands of boomers (iPlugged up the wazoo) started looking at photos of Grandma and Grandpa. Wow, a boomer says while scanning the photos on his iPhone or iPad, trying to find something awesome to upload to his Facebook or Tumblr page. A shot breezes by of Grandpa, decked out in flood pants and a bowling shirt (not retro; his league), all topped off with a Mr. Rogers sweater and those soft, squishy, good-for-your-arches shoes. Grandma is standing over a pie; shes wearing a housedress and no makeup, and shes got more wrinkles than a shar-pei. The boomer, wearing some expensive jeans that keep ending up in his eighteen-year-olds drawer (they bought the same style), a vintage tee, and Converses, cant believe his Lasiked eyes. He does the math (easy, since the calculator is right thereI mean, did Steve Jobs know our needs or what?) and breathes, Shit, they were fifty when that was taken. Im fifty. If they looked like that at fifty and I look like this, that totally makes me thirty! And thus another notch was added to the urban myth belt.

Second adulthood, third act, the golden years, final lap. Pick your euphemismwhat we are slowly turning is old, and though the years may move at the same pace they always have, people always say the last lap feels the shortest. And we are not happy about it. We are so unhappy about it we are collectively pretending its not happening. But Im not sure denial is the right approach.

The other day I was at my gym (where I go six days a week, as I am committed to keeping whatever part of my thirty-year-old body I possibly can) when a woman who works at the gymtall, thin, and hard-bodied in a way only someone whose daily work clothes are made of spandex can bestarted talking about her upcoming birthday. I couldnt help asking, What birthday is it?

Attempting to cover her distress, she mumbled meekly, Fifty.

Whew, we were the same age. She had a much better ass, but I had far fewer crows feet.

She then immediately added, It doesnt matter, because after all, fifty is the new thirty.

How? I retorted.

She stared at me blankly.

Really, how is it the new thirty? Will you travel in a time machine and go back to 1987? Are you going to leave your husband and start dating thirty-two-year-old guys? Perhaps you can reintroduce yourself to the job market and share an apartment with three other girls. Will you stop getting mammograms and go back on the pill?

Her endorphin-induced tranquility vanished in her panic; she started to sweat.

I guess youll stop getting hot flashes too.

She turned a dusty pink.

Its just not true! I yelled. Its a lie, probably started in a bar by a fifty-year-old guy who was trying to pick up a thirty-year-old girl. And then some poor fifty-year-old divorcee sitting with a bunch of other fifty-year-old divorcees who were all being ignored because the fifty-year-old guys were hitting on the thirty-year-old girls, well, they heard itout of context, mind you, but it gave them hope, and when youre fifty and sitting invisibly in a bar, youll grab on to any affirmation you possibly can.

I understood where she was coming from because for a long time I believed it too. It was the comfy, cozy blanket I would wrap around my terror when I thought about getting older. And Im sorry, but really and truly, no one wants to get older. The truth is that older (which, if you are lucky, moves eventually into old) means one thing: closer to the end. Its incontrovertible. Most of us are afraid of death, and nobody wants to fall apart. So I dont buy that getting older is something people look forward to, embracing it with open arms and wallowing in all its glories. Its a lovely thoughtacceptance of the golden years as a time full of the wisdom of experience, the understanding of what is important, and (oh God, I hear this all the time) Now I really know who I am and it feels so good. And my other favorite, Im so happy I have nothing to prove. There are ways of making the best of the situation at hand. Im a big believer in that. But I would bet my house that if you gave people the chance to freeze-frame themselves at, say, forty-three, they would. I know I would. Its a great age; youve got enough of that wisdom, probably a good hunk of what you will have at sixty-five. You know yourself well enough not to make the big mistakes, and your body, if you work it, can still be pretty kick-ass. Your joints are still oiled, and your face resembles you at your best. In fact, I read an article the other day that said most women stick with the hairstyle they had at thirty-seven because that was their favorite period. Ladies, the hair knows. But as my friend Paul Williams says, Times been worse, friends all gone, dont get crazy, life goes on and on. It does, and if youre lucky you get to go on with it; considering that the alternative sucks, what choice do you have?

But we boomers who watched the moon landing, who grew up with the pill, who invented MTV and ATMs and accepted STDs as a part of life, who have made more money faster than any generation in history, and through the birth of the computer (our invention!) have turned the world into a truly global onewe are not about to go down without a fight. Since we cant stop time, we have decided to deny it, at least verbally. And the amazing thing is, this whole concept of the shrinking years trickles down. An unmarried girl I know in her early thirties, who is starting to freak out, said to me, You know, if fifty is the new thirty, then thirty must be the new twenty-four, which means Im really an unmarried twenty-four-year-old, which is totally acceptablenot an unmarried thirty-year-old, which is totally terrifying. Im not sure how she came up with thirty being twenty-four. But she wanted the extra decade to find a husband and start a family. It just proves the logic is so fuzzy you can manipulate the numbers any way you want.

When I first heard the phrase Fifty is the new thirty, it was like Christmas morning, winning the lottery, or getting an Oscarmaybe better, because even when those things happen you still face old age. I actually went out and bought a cashmere sweater with Tinker Bell on it to celebrate my newfound youth. And the scary thing is, I wore it.