Wit and Wisdom

by Beth Broderick

I worked for a summer as an employee in the Sequoia National Forest. I was reeling from the tough final year at the Academy of Dramatic Arts and needed a break. I am not sure how I knew about it, but I managed to secure a position as a waitress in the restaurant at the main lodge. Housing was provided in cute little cabins, and meals were free on workdays. It was a healing environment, the great trees offering canopies of protection and peace. I walked and walked among them, passing deer and giant brown bears, inhaling pine, and bathing in the green.

At least once a week, the peace was disturbed by the sounds of sirens as, yet another tourist was felled by heart attack or stroke. They had worked all of their lives and waited for retirement to finally see the scope of the country they called home, only to have the trip cut short. It was a cruel fate; seemed to me to be damnably unfair. But I was told it was a regular occurrence; happened year after year.

Today is my birthday. It is a rather unremarkable one. 67 is a dull number, really. Even 68 has a bit more pizzazz. This time of year is loaded with birthday celebrations, as quite a few of my closest pals were born around the same time. Russel led us out of the gate with a bang, spending his 60th in Asia, bathing elephants and swimming in the warm waters. Then it was Mike and Jeff on the same day. Michael quite literally took the cake this year with a three-day extravaganza celebration of his 70th. Jeff had a quieter affair of drinks and dinner at his local hangout. I am opting for an even quieter night of takeout and wine with my sisters and the baby. That will do nicely. Nancy, Cookie, and Sara are all in the same window. They spend their birthdays with kids and grandkids, but we will squeeze in a “ladies’ lunch” next week. Andrew will follow us all with his usual no-fuss style, a simple dinner out.

All of this celebrating is making me think about time and these markers of its passing. I think about those new retirees seeing the great forest at last and being felled by the altitude, finding themselves with less life than they had planned. They missed the sweet spot: the span of time between relinquishing the responsibilities of employment and finding oneself hobbled by the onset of old age and infirmity.

My pal Eric is in his 70s and newly married. He and his husband are determined to experience the best that retirement has to offer. They have been cruising and traversing this great planet at breakneck speed, heading off for 30 days of discovery here, then a long weekend there. Eric still has a few responsibilities, is wrapping things up with some longtime clients, but he has firmly refused to add new ones. It takes discipline and planning to effectuate a happy final chapter. He and his husband have that in spades.

“I think the sweet spot is between 72 and 82,” I said to Michael during one of our long, long walks. “That’s when we need to be focused on adventure and fun or whatever it is that calls to us before our bodies begin to break down in earnest.”

Michael nodded. His work is his life in many ways, and the same can be said for me. I am here writing on my birthday, because it is what I do, who I am. It is hard to figure out where the stopping point should be/could be. The engine of creativity still churns away in us both; we have projects to see through and ideas yet to be fleshed out. There is still work to do, but for how long?

I dream of a river cruise through Europe. Bryan and I like the sound of a bicycle tour of small towns in the French countryside. I am determined to see the sights South America, the beaches of Uruguay, the mountains of Colombia, horse country in Argentina, and the cultures of Chile and Peru. Mike wants to go to Africa; he has pals there. My sister wants to see many of the historied swatches of America. Savannah is up next on her bucket list, which is long and varied.

I also want to finish the book, and the kids’ book, and get the movie into production, and maybe finally launch my dream of a cooking show. The trick is going to be finding the balance between these competing desires. I have all of my life defaulted to work, but that will need to change or at least shift at some point in the not-so-distant future. My 72-to-82 projection for this timeline is contradicted by the actual numbers. Average lifespan for an American male is 76.5, female is 81.4, so the odds are most of us would croak off in the middle of the “sweet spot” I have proposed.

I ordered myself two “posture bras” for my birthday, because I worry that by hunching over my computer I could end up with forward-sloping shoulders or, worse, the dreaded hump. My mom had one of those. Her entire skeleton curved forward in what appeared to be an attempt to protect her heart. “My heart is fine,” I tell myself. “Shoulders back, tummy in,” I say at least twice during every morning walk. I spend a lot of time in my head, thinking, daydreaming, writing in the air. It is work to try to stay in tune with my body.

I also treated myself to a new pair of coveralls from “Free People” and a darling green sweater from the place next door. My sisters ordered Indian food, and a few friends surprised me by showing up with wine. It was a fine birthday spent in some of my very favorite company. The 14-month-old nephew entertained with gusto and kept us all busy and laughing.

CRAVINGS ON THE HORIZON.

My life is already pretty darned sweet. I am happy when I am walking in the green hills near my home or wending my way to Palm Springs, taking in the gorgeous views of snowy mountains, or driving down Pacific Coast Highway, awed by the grandeur of the ocean waves that crash into the shoreline. I am fulfilled when I hear back from those of you who read these pages and weigh in with thoughts of your own. If I can keep the lights low enough and my eyes kind of squinty, I see in the mirror the woman I still feel myself to be. There are so many ways that I am buoyed and blessed, but my mind is restless, my spirit craving adventure.

I think my friend, the great actor Judith Ivey, has pegged the spot or is at least straddling it with admirable agility. She still accepts acting work but does not allow it to interfere with standing travel plans. She and her husband have a group of old pals who love to go exploring, and she honors those occasions. They are planning those long-awaited adventures and keeping ski vacations and beach excursions on the books. They have recently been blessed with their first grandchild and are over the moon about it. She is making it work.

Where to land? When to retire? What to keep? What to let go of?

I am at an age where I expected to be steeped in some kind of wisdom, but it often eludes me. I don’t have all of the answers or even a majority of them, but maybe that’s a part of it. I am still learning how to be a grownup, still pondering the future with tilted head and mixed emotions, still young enough to wonder just how I should go about being old.

The only thing that I am entirely sure of is that I have all of the problems that everybody wants.

That’s a pretty damned sweet spot.

On we go …

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