Some people have mixed feelings about starting a new decade and misgivings about leaving the old one. I've always felt rather excited by the thought. That's partly because I'm usually getting together with my family and friends to party! But it's also about what that new decade might bring.
When we look backwards at the receding decade, we sometimes feel regret about what we didn't achieve. Maybe we were expecting to have children or a successful business by this point in our lives. A couple of years ago I reconnected with a guy I went to college with. "Lucky you," he replied when I told him I was doing my dream job. "I'm back in my home town still doing what I trained for. I hate it but I've never been able to see a way out." When life is disappointing, we don't feel much like celebrating.
There's also the fear of what lies ahead. Of losing things. Like our youth, our energy, our looks. And as time goes on, our health, our independence, our marbles. And, ultimately, our lives. We try to hold back the years with botox, with fitness regimes, by doing crossword puzzles. Maybe friends our age get ill or die. And this reminds us of our own mortality. Some are accepting. Others are fearful. When we're afraid, we don't feel much like celebrating.
People sometimes hide or deny their age. Or are thrilled when people tell them "You don't look 60!". But we are, whether we like it or not. "Inside I still feel the same as when I was 25," we say. But other people don't see that. They see what's on the outside. Our grey hair. The slowness of movement. One friend who is 2 years older than me walks with a stick. She gets waved to the front of the M&S queue. People see a woman who is ageing. I see a woman of 30 - because she hasn't changed on the inside since the day I met her.
"Age is just a number" is a phrase that is often bandied around. But do we really believe that? We focus on age a lot. A news item, for example, will say "John Smith, 35-year-old father from Doncaster...". We see it as part of someone's identity. A news item about me (should I publish a bestseller or get arrested in a pub brawl) might say "Cathy Howells, a 60-year-old, single writer from London". And you (well not you, because you know me... but people in general) will form an idea in their minds of who I am. It will be based on their own experiences of what 60-year-olds are like. What single women are like. What writers are like. What Londoners are like. It won't actually be me. Because I am something beyond the sum of what other people think I am.
The Japanese celebrate turning 60 with an event called Kanreki. I decided to join them. Traditionally, you're given a red outfit to wear. I had sandals, a top and a wig. I wasn't expecting anyone to intuit that I had decided to celebrate Japanese style, but lo and behold, on the morning of my birthday, I opened Sharon and Andy's gift to find a red Japanese scarf (as modelled above) - the very gift the Japanese traditionally give to a women when she turns 60.
By way of celebration, a Kanreki feast with "an abundance of food and drink" is prepared by the family. Well, me and my lockdown buddy got ours from Nuki's Thai via Deliveroo. We're not exactly related to Mr Nuki, but we'll probably feel like we are if this lockdown goes on much longer. Prawn crackers, a prawn curry, a seafood stir-fry and jasmine rice. Absolutely delicious. There was no Saki (thank goodness), but my friends and neighbours certainly ensured I was well supplied with red wine for this auspicious occasion.
Gifts are given at a Kanreki celebration. It's the tradition in Japan for the recipient family make a note of each gift. Not just so that they can thank the giver, but so that they can assign a value to it. This they use as a basis for future gift giving - so that they can reciprocate with a gift of equal value! I'm not sure I like this as a philosophy of gift-giving.
Anyway, I couldn't put a price on some of the gifts I received. Like the jigsaw puzzle Linda and Charmion put together depicting photos of my friends and relatives. And the friend I had a Zoom call booked with on the afternoon of my birthday. For once we connected without any of the usual technical hitches. Her: "Are you going to let me in then?" Me (thinking she meant from the Zoom waiting room) "I have." Her: "No, I'm outside your flat." She'd driven for over two hours to hand over my present in person and have a socially distanced chat. I can't put a value on that.
The Japanese see the 60th birthday as a time for reflection. So, you could say my 60th has fallen at the ideal time - after all, I can't go anywhere much or do any work. I won't be reflecting on the past, but on the future. In Japan, 60 is seen as the age of rebirth - a time for a new beginning. It's my choice how I spend my 60s. It's not easy finding the right direction. But I feel that if I enter them without applying any thought, I could just fritter them away without doing the things I want to do.
So, for anyone who hasn't yet turned 60, and feels reluctant to relinquish their 50s, my recommendation is... try it Japanese style.