I'm not sure that I'm handling 60 as well as I had hoped. Forty was a piece of cake. Fifty was defiant. Sixty is numbing. I find myself becoming too existential without the luxury of having youth as an antidote. Having a great desire to retire but having little means to do so. My definition of retirement is not just "not having to work" as I don't mind working, really. Retirement to me means being in a position to derive enjoyment from day to day activities without the anxiety of having to prepare for retirement. It would be ideal to be able to chose an interesting job that may not offer health insurance, for example, or did not require commuting, or that had flex hours.
My angst is also due to the realization that, at sixty, I may have only one more chance at it. "It" being a dream, a wish-upon-a-star, a summer at the beach, a trip on a sail boat, a villa in Italy, a book, or the discovery of what I want to be when I grow up.
It is all a myth. This is "it". My existential axiom is not "Cogito, ergo sum", it is "Sum, ergo moriro" (can anyone please supply the correct Latin for that phrase). Anyhow, at 60 "Just for Men" is just not strong enough a potion.