A Personal Reflection:

I recently spent some time at a little cabin my great-grandparents went to way back in the day, circa 1905. It was originally a bunkie for farm labourers and is super basic. No shower, dishwasher, laundry or heating. There are oil lanterns still in the cupboards and old, sometimes mouse-eaten photos tucked into drawers.

Being there made me nostalgic for my family and everything the generations before me went through. It also got me thinking about age — and specifically, what it means to be 60 today.

There’s so much that younger people (who I’ll randomly define as 40 and under) don’t realize about older folks. I certainly did not.

For my parents, grandparents and great-grandparents, life looked very different. They lived through wars and the economic despair of 1929. Several family members died in service. My aunts, who were nurses, had horrific stories. Diseases like diphtheria, scarlet fever, mumps, measles and whooping cough were part of the “Olden Days” stories recounted by my Gran.

They dealt with quarantines and rationing. They pulled their curtains closed so as not to get bombed. They buried mothers and children because of inadequate medical care.

Can you believe women used to do this all the time?

Despite this, they found happiness living simply.

Bridge and church for social connection.
Reading the classics under an oil lamp.
Practicing elocution.
Playing piano and singing.
Skits for entertainment.
Making all meals from scratch.
Sewing their outfits.
Darning their socks.
Storing root vegetables in the cellar for winter.
Walking everywhere.
Writing letters in ink, in beautiful longhand.
Sharing one phone on a party line.
Sitting around the radio to get the news.
Winding up the phonograph.
Staying warm with a fireplace through winter.
Scrubbing clothes on a washing board.
Sex without birth control.
Bathing in a large round bucket.
Keeping perishables in an icebox built into an outside wall.
Saying their prayers.

And, if they wanted curls, they wrapped their hair around hot pokers, which I found while I was at the cabin. They used them red hot out of the fire, with oil lamps for light. Can you believe women used to do this all the time?

It can sound fun, almost like the glamorization of trad wives these days, but the stories I grew up with, while often entertaining, were also sobering. They had to work hard for shelter, warmth, nourishment, education and safety. Looking back at old sepia photos from that time, it’s no wonder that people over 40 appeared pretty darn old. Beeswax, lard, honey and yogurt were as fancy as skincare got, and obviously there was no SPF. You got married in your early 20s. You could be a grandma by 40 and dead by 60. Forty back then really seemed more like 60 today. So yeah, we’re not the same as that generation. We, in Canada, did not grow up in war or a depression. We grew up with vaccines, accessible transportation, convenience foods, air conditioning, the pill and fast fashion. And don’t even get me started about electronics.

We still like rock and roll, continue to have sex, live to eat, definitely don’t dress like old ladies

It hit me recently that those whom I call young people probably assume we know we’re old. But I think people my age, 60ish, are kind of in denial about this. Many of us consider ourselves basically the same people we were 15 or 30 years ago. We still like rock and roll, continue to have sex, live to eat, definitely don’t dress like old ladies and often prioritize working in our chosen fields well beyond typical retirement years because we want to.The women in my life laugh at self-deprecating jokes about being old because, truthfully, we don’t really believe they refer to us. Intellectually, we know we’re closer to 100 than a millennial, but we don’t necessarily feel that different.

Of course, there are things I can’t deny.

We are not immune to serious health issues. I’ve fought skin cancer and had eye surgery to see. I see a therapist instead of turning to the bottle to manage my anxiety and body dysmorphia. With a history of disordered eating, I prioritize cooking and eating well. I watched my mum die a horrible death from dementia, so fostering brain health is incredibly important to me.

My LDL could be better, which frustrates me because I eat well. But DNA testing taught me that I’m a natural candidate for arteriosclerosis, so I need to be even more proactive. Oh, and I’m going to see a cardiologist because I have an irregular heartbeat and I don’t want to become a statistic.

I also readily acknowledge one stereotype that is true: my lack of ability to consume alcohol. My liver retaliates and completely messes up my sleep, so I’ve had to make some lifestyle changes. But this has been such a blessing in disguise. I know that in itself will help me live longer and look better.

Maybe this is one of the biggest differences at 60 today: we have more information, resources and self-awareness to be proactive about how we age.

I want to help empower women like me.

Outside of this health awareness — which, unattended, could result in me kicking the bucket early — I live a very active life. My business is a huge focus because I want to help empower women like me. Not just with skincare products, but by example.

I choose to live a low-key, mostly makeup-free life in a loose-fitting, monochromatic wardrobe, the simpleness of which I enjoy. But (embarrassed brag) I’ve received the occasional whistle. The 20-year-old feminist in me would be upset with this type of attention. But strolling downtown dressed up for dinner and a play with a girlfriend, walking past one of the many construction sites, we’ve had a catcall or two. And on a bad hair day, someone will occasionally call me Ma’am and ask if I have my seniors discount card in the drugstore or supermarket, which I can’t lie, does make me grimace.

On a bad hair day, someone will occasionally call me Ma’am and ask if I have my seniors discount card

But that said, I’m mostly just grateful to be seen and to have the privilege of generally rocking 60 when my grandmothers would have been considered seriously over the hill.

Maybe that’s what being back at this cabin has made me realize.

The place is more than 120 years old now. It’s cute and quaint on the surface, but underneath, parts of it are crumbling. It was built on tree stumps. The exterior wood is rotting. It needs ongoing care and some serious rebuilding. Oh, and don’t get me started about the roof.

But it’s still here.

And so am I.