On Turning 60: Still No Fun

Question: What do Hillary Clinton, Billy Crystal, David Bowie, and Tom Clancy have in common?

Answer: They're all turning 60 this year.

Big deal.

Back when they were born, it really was a big deal. Life expectancy in the United States was around 63 years, which didn't leave a lot of time. Today it's more like 80 years, and as we've all been told so often, hitting 60 has no great significance. It simply means you're middle-aged.

Well, that's not how I felt. It was a while back, but I remember the occasion very well. My wife threw a big party. Everyone assured me that I looked a lot younger than 60. No one remarked on the hair that was sprouting more rapidly out of my ears than atop my head, the frequency with which I was spraining this or that on the tennis court, the flattening of my career path.

The thing about that party: Most of the guests were around my age. But by and large, the people I worked with and played tennis with, the people who waited on me at stores or shared a seat on the bus, were younger. In most cases, substantially younger. I was aware of it, and I figured they were, too.

Mind you, I probably did look "younger than my age." But once you start hearing that line, you know you're on a slippery slope. Not looking old, in our culture, means not looking tired, depressed, and ugly -- all those unpleasant, unattractive attributes that get laid on you when you reach an arbitrary chronological age.

We seem to be born, or maybe bred, with a need to categorize. My dictionary defines that word as placing folks into a particular category and judging all members of that category accordingly. We do it with genders, with ethnic and religious groups, with vocations (lawyers are sharp, sanitation workers are dull). And we definitely do it with age. It's inaccurate and terribly unfair.

The enlightened view nowadays is that such notions are outmoded, that today's people in their 60s and 70s are different from generations past. Maybe so, but it was just as unfair 60 years ago as it is today to automatically perceive and treat an person a certain way because he or she belongs to one or another group or category. It's past time for us all to dump that baggage and treat each other as individuals.

Anyway, on my 60th birthday, I looked to the future with dismay. Retirement would move me from the mainstream of life to the back burner, younger bus companions would rise to give me a seat, movie cashiers would ask if I wanted a senior discount. In the fullness of time, I discovered that retirement was a hoot. I still work at my writing trade, but as a freelancer and on my own schedule; I miss the restrictive, boss-heavy 9-to-5 routine not at all. Nobody offers me a seat on the bus, and I don't feel embarrassed at all to accept a senior discount.

Not embarrassed, but a little ashamed of myself. I remember talking about the discount with David Garth, the political consultant, just after he'd turned 65. "The worst fear people have about getting older," he said, "is being dependent. Accepting a senior discount is a symbol of being dependent, so I refuse." I think that makes a lot of sense, but I've always had a hard time resisting a bargain.

Turning 60 is still a big deal for a lot of us. We remember how we felt about 60-year-olds when we were young. But maybe, just maybe, the young folks today know better. I sure hope so.

Robert W. Stock, a New York Timesalumnus, is a writer and editor based in New York.