By guest blogger Melissa Roberson
I attended a big blowout of a Southern wedding in June—big reception, big bowls of big shrimp and a big tent with a big band. When the thunderous beat of Daft Punk’s “Get Lucky” gave me bear hug and all but lifted me off my feet, I kicked off my shoes and hit the dance floor. I danced with friends. I danced with people I’ll never see again. I danced by myself. Joyous sweat rolled down my back. Oh, and I happen to be 62.
I’m not really that cool. I had no idea who Daft Punk was until that night but, gosh, it was impossible to hear and feel that song and not move, total knee replacement and all. And though Pharrell Williams and I may have different notions of what “get lucky” means, no matter. (And, full disclosure, at first I thought the singers were crowing “get healthy,” not “get lucky.” But who cares? Either idea made me want to dance.)
Look, this age business may be tricky. When that first pitch from AARP hits your mailbox when you’re 50, there is a bit of a “whoa” moment. How did this happen? But you forget about it for awhile, until the guy at the movie box office asks if you want the senior discount. Or you realize that you qualify for the senior discount on the city bus. But hey, it’s a discount! And now I’m getting into that too. I get kind of irritated when I realize a senior discount doesn’t kick in for some services until you’re 65. Fine, I’ll just keep dancing until then.
This doesn’t mean I’m not a sucker for an age-related compliment. I was getting a bagel and lox the other day in my New Jersey town. As a young man worked on my sandwich, a Beatles tune came on the radio. In a fit of sharing, I said, “I saw the Beatles in concert once.”
Uncomprehending look on his part.
“In Memphis,” I added.
No response.
“It was 1966 or ’67,” I said, hoping to help him make sense of all this. Finally, in desperation, I said, “I’m 62.”
“YOU’RE 62?!!” he said, eyes wide. “You don’t look 62.”
I grinned like a Cheshire cat and sent up a small prayer of thanks to my hair colorist. I didn’t push my luck by asking how old he thought I was. I frequent that place a lot now.
To me, there’s an eternity factor in aging. Some part of me will always be 12 or 20 or 40. But a really good and wise part of me is 62. That’s the part that knows when to let someone else win an argument. Or that understands that discomfort is temporary. And that a good night’s sleep always helps put a problem in perspective. And so what if you have cellulite?
But I love that 20-year-old who will never go away. And I still fire up You Tube and clap on my headphones to tap into Daft Punk when I need a shot of energy. Those guys never fail me. Just take a look at this video of them rehearsing “Get Lucky” for the 2014 Grammys. If you watch to the end, when the camera pans the scattered audience of Grammy participants, you’ll see another old geezer, Paul McCartney, mouthing, “Wow.”
