I was 60 on Saturday. I was going to write something to mark the event but realised I had already done so with my guest post at Time Goes By.
This year I cross one of those artificial age thresholds we so love to hate – in my case I will be 60. When my parents approached that age, they probably did so with some trepidation – both physically and mentally it was seen as the beginning of the decline. That isn’t the case now because of course we expect to live much longer as medical treatment improves.
One thing that hasn’t changed however is our attitude to aging or retirement. Many of us, supported it must be said by trades unions and the media, see retirement not as a change but as the end - as if we define ourselves by our work. Indeed the pensions system makes it pretty much impossible to do anything else. If my working life had been like my father’s – hot, hard labour in a foundry – I suppose I might have felt that way myself, but increasingly this will not be so.
Part of the reason for linking to this rather than the new piece I was writing is that I haven't finished - I found myself going in new directions, much more personal than I feel comfortable with, and I want to take some time to think further before committing them to the ether...
