"Still Foolin' 'Em" - Billy Crystal's take on turn 65

"Where I've Been, Where I'm Going, and Where the Hell Are My Keys?" is the subtitle of Billy Crystal's 2013 book on turning 65.

It opens as if he's channeling me. Same questions, same thoughts, same fears, same frustrations, same aches and pains. No credit. I'd sue but I'm pretty sure it's just happening to all of us.

It's wonderful to know an artist's performing style so well that while reading his words, I hear his vocal inflections and imagine him acting it out for me --- reading it aloud to me.

It's an entertaining read and moves about as fast as Crystal does on stage. The only problem: I'm in bed with a book rather than Crystal himself...oh, that's right, he's happily married. ugh.



"Still Foolin' 'Em: Where I've Been, Where I'm Going, and Where the Hell Are My Keys?," published by Henry Holt, 2013



Share your thoughts in the comments section below.

Standing in the middle of the road

I’m standing in the middle of the road.

A glamorous convertible filled with 20-somethings pumping out the party music and confetti races up the hill and past me unaware, invincible, carefree.

In the other lane toddles a pristine late model Cadillac tank. Behind the wheel is a shrinking and perfectly coiffed elderly couple. Their car crests the hill and slowly begins its descent.

 And here I stand caught between and looking both ways.

I’m told I’m a baby boomer, a member of the sandwich generation, not yet a senior and no way I’m a tweener, GenX or millennial.

Sixty is the new 40, but I’m only 26. That’s such a relief!

 Well, actually I’m 26  trapped somehow in a 60-year-old’s body.

No body switching movies plots. Twenty-six was just such a productive, creative, nurturing year that I choose to stay there even though my body did not.

In recent years, the aches and pains of this body, which has not aged as gracefully as I had intended, has caught up with me. Falls with broken bones and sprains. Cancer, surgeries and chemotherapy.

I am starting to admit that I am aging.

I am no longer invincible but vulnerable.

When we moved to a home that was suppose to be further down the road to retirement, I found myself slumping under the weight of the high anxiety my fears about aging, retirement, uselessness, and surrender were causing. (Every time I use the words “high anxiety” I start humming Mel Brook’s song from the movie of the same name.)

High anxiety ... it's always the same;

High anxiety ... it's you that I blame.

It's very clear to me I've got to give in.

High anxiety: you win. ©

At the same time, we were plotting “semi-retirement.” Working less in our career fields and making more time to enjoy our summers on the lake, volunteering, and travel. Yet, semi-retirement made me wonder if I was too outdated to continue to hold my own with the youngsters in my field. Anything left in me to contribute?

All of the economic fears came crashing down around my head as well. Are our savings enough? How do we ensure we can cover all of the health issues that we are starting to confront?

And then of course, what if one of us loses the other? What are all of the overwhelming tasks and commitments that we’ll have to muddle through alone?

And there’s nothing like grandchildren to jar one’s perspective about her age and fading place in the world.

Overwhelmed with me yet?

And then someone jolted me with “You’ve got 30-40 years left.”

“Well,” I thought, “That’s my adult life so far.” Heck, that’s lots of time. (Blatant but comforting denial).

My father died at 61 and I’ve always said that was way too young. I’m not even there yet.

Plenty of time to leave the old paths behind and head out in new directions --- professionally as well personally.

Plenty of time to address the gaps or flaws in the rest of my life plan.

And waaaaaaaaaaay too much time to surrender to some stereotypical image of an old lady.

While I’ll admit that I shouldn’t be standing in the middle of the road in the first place, I think I’ll stay right here, for a while anyway, taking all the risks and waving happily to all who cruise by.

© 1977 HIGH ANXIETY Mel Brook, arranged by John Morris

I know I'm not alone. Share your stories in the comments section below.