I turned 60 yesterday. I feel freer and more optimistic than ever before.
Much of my 50s were a process of emotional decluttering: letting go of what no longer served me to make space for ways of living that feel lighter, kinder, and more true. Looking back from my new vantage point of 60, I barely recognize myself!
From outside-in to inside-out
For much of my life, I tried to follow outside rules, conventions, and other people’s advice about how I should eat, move, work, dress, and show up in the world. That “outside-in” orientation didn’t always serve me well.
Now, I’m paying attention to what works for me, and what doesn’t, and letting that be my guide. “Inside‑out” living means starting with my own instincts, feelings, wants, and limits, then shaping my choices around them.
Figuring out what works for me hasn’t been straightforward. After decades of rushing through life, I had to learn how to slow down and pay attention to the promptings of my body, heart and soul. The increased clarity and confidence this brings motivates me to continue on this path.
Befriending my body
Some five years ago, exhausted from decades of wellness- and weight-loss regimens, I finally decided to make peace with my body. No more restrictive food plans or expensive supplements, no more fitness trackers or scales, no more counting anything. None of it provided lasting benefits.
At 60, my top priority is investing my precious energy in activities that feel meaningful and enjoyable, not in forcing my body to conform to externally dictated beauty or health standards it can’t meet.
So, I’m giving myself permission to own comfortable clothes—in more than one size!— because the size and shape of my body naturally fluctuates. I’m also returning to my European roots: low‑maintenance short hair, comfortable footwear, and no makeup most days.
I will always enjoy nutritious Mediterranean meals, but they don’t have to be “perfect” (macro-balanced, organic, sugar- and additive-free, beautifully plated and “Instagram-ready”). I enjoy moving my body, but now I do so on my terms. Not in gyms or on running tracks, but on a dance floor, hiking trails, and my living room.
I’m giving my aging body acceptance and gratitude. My skin is thinner, more lined. My midriff is jiggly. My hair is graying. My joints creak. I look different in photos than I used to. Do I love these changes? No. But accepting them seems a lot easier than fighting them. Besides, they’re evidence that I’ve been blessed with 60 years of living. That I’ve borne three amazing children, survived cancer and other disasters, loved, grieved, and built a life. Aging means I’m still here. Lucky me.
Embracing imperfection
Two more behaviors I can finally let go: perfectionism and people-pleasing. It’s impossible to please everyone. Believe me, I spent too many years trying! When I was younger, these skills helped me secure jobs, a husband, and a sense of belonging. However, after decades of twisting myself into a pretzel to earn approval, I no longer knew who I was or what I wanted.
At 60, after 10 years of soul-reclamation, I’m more interested in being honest, authentic, and living a life that’s aligned with my deepest values, than in being approved of. Some people will like that. Some won’t. That’s okay.
In the spirit of imperfection, I can serve simple meals instead of elaborate spreads. I can let emails sit unanswered a bit longer without beating myself up. I can turn off the “touch-up” filter on Zoom. My newsletter can be late. I can admit that I don’t know the answer to every question my clients ask me. I can make mistakes, apologize, and move on. I am giving myself permission to be a real person rather than a polished product.
Accepting my mortality
Life is finite, so my to-do list has to be, too. I accept that I can’t “do it all” in the time I have left, and therefore I choose the things that matter most to me.
Thus, I am gifting myself more time and space: more walks with my partner, meals and phone calls with my kids, coffee and playtime with friends, reading, meditating, and staring into space as I wait for the kettle to boil, rather than reaching for my phone to check emails.
I’m also giving myself permission to own less stuff. Fewer things on shelves and in closets means fewer things to manage, clean, and worry about. Less stuff means less stress. I want my home to feel like a place to exhale in, not to manage.
Sixty, as it turns out, is not about becoming a new person. It’s about finally allowing myself to be the person I’ve been all along.