Looking Back to My 60s, and Forward to 70+

Freelance writer John Ficarra is comfortable with who he is and where he is in his life — as he leaves his 60s behind Lehel Kovacs Facebook Twitter LinkedIn

This will be my last Life 6.0 column. No, I’m not retiring from writing. I still have plenty of stories to tell and opinions to espouse. It’s just that AARP has this pesky rule that to write

the Life 6.0 column, you have to actually be in your 60s. And, alas, I have just forever exited mine.

My 60s were ... surprising. I retired right before COVID hit. The pandemic scrambled any plans I had to travel the world but, in a way, that’s turned out to be a blessing. While confined to

home, I rediscovered freelance writing and my love of stringing words together. Today, I’m never more content than when I’m working on a new essay. The thought of getting on a plane or

cruise ship holds much less allure than it once did.

I enter my 70s with no fears or illusions. Despite recent open-heart surgery, I’m in relatively good health, mobile, able to drive. If my biggest complaints are arthritis in my big toe and

my inability to recall the names of movies and the actors who appeared in them, I am truly blessed.

I’m also comfortable with who I am and where I am in my life. I’ve come to terms with the fact that some things I dreamed for myself when I was younger are just never to be. Filthy rich and

living in a seaside mansion on Cape Cod? Probably not going to happen.

Other things that I never dreamed of came along and brought me joy and happiness beyond anything I could have imagined, the biggest example being fatherhood. I entered parenthood

reluctantly. Now I can’t imagine my life without my daughter.

In my 60s, I learned to be less judgmental of others. At the end of the day, everybody is just trying to figure it out. People’s lifestyle, thoughts and politics are formed by the lives

they’ve lived, the highs they’ve experienced, the disappointments they’ve endured. Sometimes these things lead them to make different choices or reach different conclusions than I might, but

that’s OK. It’s rarely malicious or worth arguing about. I just let it go and move on. I’ve never been more at peace.

Which brings me to the door marked “70.” As I walk through it, there’s nothing on my bucket list, other than not to kick the bucket, but I have made a few resolutions:

I resolve to read more books, some of which have been patiently waiting their turn on my shelves. But I also vow to stop beating myself up if I don’t get to all of them. Reading is a joy,

not a chore, and besides, just seeing my books lined up gives me indescribable comfort.