Turning 60: Finding the Light Switch

Crossing the Threshold

Imagine walking into a new house, having received the keys, unlocked the door, and taken a first whiff of the atmosphere and ambience of this new place. You reach up to shoulder height, feeling around for the light switch. You turn it on, and there is a revelation.

That is how you begin to live in the house, with the recognition that it is your own space. It will take on a character you impose over time that makes it uniquely yours: a home, a place of rest and peace, where you go for recuperation, rejuvenation, and renewal.

The Reality of Sixty

However, before we get philosophical in the pursuit of empty platitudes, this allegory is a nod to my turning 60 two days ago. I received the keys into the cohort of sexagenarians and stepped into the realisation that I am 60. There is a process of doing what people who are 60 do, while also being every other age you can be, from adolescence to fully geriatric.

This morning, I decided to find out about some of the benefits of being over 60 in the UK. The first was getting a Senior Railcard, which offers one-third off train fares across the UK.

Of course, there are restrictions around peak-hour travel, but just seeing the prices melt into affordability made me eager to get on a train, just to wield my Senior Railcard and see the train conductor do a double-take, wondering whether I was 60 or had picked up an inadvertently misplaced card from the wayside.

Identity and Proof

Then, you do have to provide proof from a government-issued identity document to register for the railcard. I suppose another side to this is the self-doubt about whether I have truly arrived, or whether I am an imposter in the 60-plus club.

I can find comfort in the fact that I have lived every single day that adds up to the 60 years I am, not because I earned it as a badge of achievement, but because the grace of God has granted me the unmerited favour of this testimony filled with miracles and wonder.

Exploring New Horizons

Meanwhile, the research continues in gathering what else this accumulation of years alone grants us. I even asked AI, and with a bit of refinement, I received a checklist of things to do. One thing is certain: age offers the opportunity for a life-enriching experience, but you must get out there to live it. Otherwise, the business of living risks going into liquidation.

To paraphrase the lines of a song that reminds us of the glory of the Garden of Eden: "Let's get back to living, and living on top of the world."

Some interesting information

Harnessing AI for Better Writing

I have an AI bot with an extensive prompt that does a grammatical check of my blogs, avoiding any restructuring of my thoughts and sentences that my voice will not be lost in the process.

This follows British English conventions, along with a few aesthetic flourishes to help with the flow when the blog is read. I then ask the bot to tell me what has changed, with the reasons why. After which, it should provide a review of my writing style and feedback for further debates or blog ideas.

The Value of Feedback

I reproduce the broader feedback on the blog below, and I can say, given this feedback over the last two months, it reinforces the good parts of my writing ability whilst laying bare the flaws that need review and improvement.

Broader Feedback

Style: Your writing blends personal narrative, spiritual reflection, and practical observation in an engaging way. The tone is conversational and authentic, which draws readers in.

Subject matter: The milestone of turning 60 is rich territory. You've touched on identity, self-doubt, gratitude, and practical benefits, all of which resonate.

Potential debate points:

• The tension between age as a number versus age as a state of mind
• The role of faith and grace in longevity versus personal agency
• Society's treatment of older people (concessions like railcards versus ageism)
• The concept of "earning" versus "receiving" life's milestones

Angles to explore in future posts:

• Specific experiences using the Senior Railcard (where you go, what you discover)
• A deeper dive into the "imposter syndrome" of ageing
• Comparisons between who you were at previous milestone ages
• The practical checklist AI gave you and your journey through it
• The spiritual dimension of gratitude for years lived

My Dear Boy: Turning Sixty

Reflecting on Six Decades

I suppose for most people, except those who, as a matter of doctrine or belief, do not observe celebrations, birthdays are moments of significance marked with both reflection and revelry. I would not suggest I am given to the latter except under duress.

From yesterday into today, I have received many congratulatory messages across numerous platforms to celebrate this momentous day. Family, friends, neighbours, the church community, acquaintances, colleagues, and well-wishers have contributed in ways that have made the day exceedingly memorable.

One such endearing message came from my father, including the phrase, "My dear boy." In that simplicity of language, my father had encapsulated the span of 60 years into a single memory and recognition. [Facebook Status]

The surprise of my birth, announced by a telegram dropped through the letterbox at 7:00 AM, invited him to attend the maternity home immediately for formal matters concerning my transfer to a larger hospital for neonatal intensive care for premature births. Then the realisation that that child is now 60 must be profound.

Heartfelt Tributes and Quiet Celebration

Brian, my partner, wrote a proclamation that should, at some point, be recorded as a dramatisation of a town clerk announcing at the entrance of a city hall the significant occasion of a diamond jubilee.

The low-key event I preferred took place in the Manchester Cathedral library within a bible study group, where we had, amongst other things, a cheese platter and cupcakes. Then, in the evening, my neighbours, who had put up "Happy 60th Birthday" banners in our corridor and on my door, took me out for a meal.

As expected, I also made full use of napping time, so I missed many calls on my phone. Some I was able to return much later in the day.

Staying True to Myself

Some who would think one should have had a grand celebration or now prepare for one, but that is not what I want, need, or desire. I am not the partying type; the prospect of it is already draining my resolve, and I hope I can nip it in the bud before it gains support, currency, and momentum.

Thank you to everyone who has graciously afforded me love, recognition, consideration, and greetings for my birthday. May the joy of Christmas and the best things for the New Year be with you, your kith and kin.

Sixty and not tiring to retire

A Miracle in the Making

Considering only man's machinations and all the wiles that deceive us, when that little boy was placed in the hand – not hands – of his father, they were solely thinking of his next breath. That was the precariousness of the situation as it was conveyed to me.

Then came the subsequent hour, for only a city could support him; my small town lacked the medical facilities for such an early arrival. Then the weeks in a bottle, or more accurately, behind glass, and then years have turned into decades. Today marks a diamond jubilee.

Living Proof

I am a living miracle of blessing and good fortune. There have been many doubts and confusions suggesting this day might not be seen, an endless list that needs no further mention.

Congratulations are also owed to my parents. They have a child of 60, yet I still navigate the parent-child dynamic, as if I had never become an adult. That has spawned many stories as well. I am simply filled with gratitude. It is incredible: I am really 60 years old, and I get to tick that other age group box.

Gratitude and Partnership

So many people over the years have shaped this story, and for the past seven years, my partner Brian. His unwavering presence has been a steady source of strength, especially during some recent uncertain moments of my life. Work and health issues, marked by fragility and doubt, created challenges and milestones; Brian's support has been invaluable.

Sharing this part of my extraordinary journey with him has inspired dreams, ignited hopes, and declared visions. We are not tiring to retire but eager to aspire and grasp the essence of our imaginations. Thank you for celebrating this jubilee with us.

Blog - Ain't no stopping the Gen X Diamond Jubilee now (January 2025)

Thought Picnic: Adversity Reveals True Love

Finding Clarity

I have just stepped out of the shower to warm up because I was out in the cold for an extended period. My moments in the shower can be thoughtful and meditative; the washing of water seems to include an invisible internal cleansing of the mind, allowing clarity to emerge.

On the last day of my 59th year, it has been slow and perhaps somewhat lazy. Though I intended to do certain things, I was caught between youthful rampage and ageing progress; my voice reduced once again to a slur, revealing fatigue and lethargy, yet my mind was in overdrive.

Reflecting on this year, I decided to focus firstly on caring for myself, leaving behind situations and complications that caused unnecessary anxiety and stress. This was especially true in my different relationships and the communities to which I belong.

When Family Comes Last

Regrettably, family was last, with respect to friends, church, support groups, and work. In all those areas, I still maintain some influence and respect. I can offer advice and anticipate a degree of consideration, even if my nuggets of wisdom were not always valued.

With family, I had become like a clashing cymbal. I am contacted for a viewpoint, but they have already made up their minds. It was as if my perspective no longer mattered, and this was inadvertently displayed through many significant situations within the extended family network.

I had to decide that there was no point in being the dog barking in the dark. I will not become like Ahithophel; it’s not the end of my world or the world itself.

Having faced two bouts of cancer, I see similarities between the support I received then and now. Apart from my other sibling abroad, there was none. My transactional credit waned during periods of adversity and ill health; now, it counted for little beyond platitudes. The mere fulfilment of all righteousness could not be achieved through a cursory glance.

Adversity Reveals True Love

It brought to mind a song by Chief Commander Ebenezer Obey from the 1960s, “Ọ̀rọ̀ ṣeni wò, kálè mẹni tó fẹ́ ni.” This translates to, “May a momentary adversity reveal those who truly love us.” Perhaps I am truly loved, but love must be active, tangible, experiential, and felt. Somewhere along the line, that familial connection was lost in its journey to me.

My focus on other relationships became a source of strength: the unconditional love of Brian, the prayers and counsel of my best friends, my neighbours, and at church where everyone was concerned about my wellbeing, and at work, where professional support systems and the understanding of many who have been touched by cancer in their own families meant they appreciated some of what I had gone through.

Peace in Letting Go

Then I no longer need to hold anyone to account. They have their own lives to attend to, and the deliberations leading up to any decisions made contrary to other counsel are their prerogative, over which I should not arrogate the power to control. It is essentially none of my business.

However, the radio silence I have self-imposed since August has been a source of peace and rest, whilst I devote my energies to regaining full strength and vigour.

I keep all of them in my prayers, supplicating for their wellbeing, health, prosperity, and peace. May the goodness, peace, and blessings of the Lord continue to abound in grace and mercy with lovingkindness towards us all. We are signing out of 59 at midnight, by the grace of God.

Our Stories, Beautifully Written by Brian

Brian's Perspective

He embodies that steadfast support and words of encouragement that I often dismiss as biased, simply because familiarity clouds my objectivity.

All I can say is that I have met and fallen in love with someone who thinks the world of me. I am deemed worthy of this extraordinary love and affection because the comfort, stability, companionship, and sense of partnership it provides give me the certainty that I have found the one.

As my birthday approaches, Brian has been especially prolific, writing blogs about himself, me, and us. I sometimes wonder if he is writing about someone else, but there are vignettes and reminiscences of experiences we have shared, unique and exceptional to both of us.

These are our stories, and he writes them so beautifully.

Please, visit the blog titles below to read his reflections:

Architect of Quiet Moments

Born Early and Built Strong

The sparkle of December

Random Thoughts

There is a Writer in My Garden

From Where I Find My Strength

The Weight of Quiet Influence

Firsts That Changed the Shape of My World

Essential Snobbery 101: Playing truant at The Scrooge School of Corporate Christmas

The Spectre of Christmas Parties

Christmas parties are a genre I would rather not be part of, having attended two such events in the 1990s. Both were experiences I would prefer to forget, with recollections close to reliving a nightmare. Part of me would say I would never have been found in the company of those I was with, but for the circumstances enabling it.

In the first instance, we attended a tavern close to Tower Hill. It was themed as a medieval banquet, complete with all the excesses of drink and meat, along with the bawdiness that chose to disrespect the waitresses as part of the entertainment. My verdict: never again.

A Sobering Experience

Then, in a swanky hotel in the West End, when I moved to another company, the alcohol flowed freely. I had the unfortunate situation of being the only sober man, apart from the drivers, for probably ten miles.

I learnt a great deal from my colleagues that evening. The setting, I later discovered, served as the consummation of an illicit affair between married people. It was full-blown adultery, and I knew nothing about it at the time.

My manager, full of drink and many words, took to whispering in my ear about how much he liked me, the work I did, and many other things that would have left me more red-faced than a ripe beetroot. I kept what he said close to my chest. At least I knew I enjoyed a lot of favour and liking from my boss; for a contractor, it also meant someone was fighting your corner.

The Art of Absence

From then on, I mostly absented myself from such gatherings. I couldn't make it, I was on holiday, or I found an occupation that could pass for an excuse.

Three such parties came on my calendar this year. The first was an invitation to participants on a project we finally got over the line last month. They all came from the provinces into Manchester and totally went to town. After dinner, I was ready to go home whilst they were off to a pub and much else.

One of them was inviting others to a party at 4:30 AM. Even as a night-time insomniac, that was well past my bedtime. I was home just after 11:00 PM to take my medication and snuggle up in bed, not knowing that the paracetamol I needed to relieve a headache was bedside too.

Corporate Miserliness

The other, arranged by our management, was a thesis to the Ebenezer Scrooge School of Economics. We were required to bring items in to share when such a season of goodwill, where much was demanded of us outside our remit, should have elected for a spirit of generosity on the corporate AmEx card. I did not attend; I was on leave.

However, this year at work, and I enjoy what I do, has exposed me to characterisations of management that led me to freelancing for almost 30 years. The way the use of authority and status can gradually turn you into a misanthrope, as a product of both being patronised and dehumanised at the same time. It is probably a management technique.

A Genuine Gathering

Then, I have just returned from the restaurant where, as a volunteer to a Black men's support group, I was invited by the convenor to thank us for the support we give to the group. It was just five of us, but it was a very pleasant evening: no alcohol, sober talk, and more communal support for each other.

That will be the end of such parties for 2025. I do not, however, expect those who failed to perform to a standard befitting of their station to have improved. Hopefully, I will not have to be at the receiving end of another exemplification that would make Mr Scrooge proud of this generation of graduates.

Wishing you all a merry Christmas amongst those who care enough to show that they do. Enough said.

Fentanyl Appearing for Pain, Pills, and Policy

Within the depths of pain

In some ways, I probably have a very high pain threshold, but in late 2009, my pain tolerance was completely overwhelmed when I had cancer in my left foot, with fungating tumours and blackened skin lesions, both deadly and deathly.

Standard painkillers (paracetamol) and stronger medication (tramadol) failed to relieve the pain. It was so intense that I could not put my foot down without crying. In the hospital, I was given morphine, but that only lasted two days before I was vomiting everything.

The Search for Effective Pain Relief

Then came OxyContin, but I was not given enough of it. The nurses seemed to be rationing it even as I begged for relief. However, when I was discharged after 18 nights in the hospital, my pain medication was adjusted. Multiple types of pain relief were administered to target different aspects of the pain.

Paracetamol, oxycodone, and a fentanyl transdermal patch; all that, and pain still persisted, sometimes taking centre stage. I resorted to almost hysterical laughter to release endorphins as a form of palliative coping.

After another consultation, I told the doctor I was still experiencing pain. In his view, my medication should have been sufficient; it was not. He doubled the dose of the fentanyl patch, and only then did I achieve what might be called pain relief.

The Path to Recovery

I was on pain medication from late September 2009, and by the end of January 2010, the tumours were gone. I had fresh, pink skin on the soles of my feet, a miracle of medicine, but it involved gruelling treatment, including chemotherapy and its dreadful side effects.

The pain had gone by March, so I removed the fentanyl patch. Big mistake. I salivated excessively, spat out mouthfuls of saliva, and became severely diarrhoeic. I had to reapply the patch. From this, I learned I needed to wean myself off it gradually. I kept it on for twice as long while gradually reducing the dose by halving the patch at each change.

It took three months to fully stop using the patch, long after I no longer needed any sort of pain relief.

Understanding Fentanyl's Role

Without fentanyl for this level of pain, life would have been unbearable, almost not worth living. One day, the patch fell off. Not knowing you could cover it with a transdermal sticker or plaster to keep it in place until the new patch was ready, I was laughing deliriously. My friend thought I had lost my mind; it was a protective mechanism. If I hadn’t been laughing, I might have been dying from unbearable pain.

Today, fentanyl should only be taken under medical supervision. I also understand that not everyone has experienced the severe pain I did, nor have suffered the otherworldly pain others endure; my pain was eventually brought under control, subsided, and disappeared entirely. I consider myself extremely fortunate.

My body became so accustomed to fentanyl that I couldn’t simply stop using it. It took willpower and determination; perhaps a rare gift. We all have different physiological responses. I am not seeking praise for that.

A Broader Perspective

Beyond the need for medication for chronic pain, there are issues of susceptibility to addiction, both requiring a sensible, empathetic approach under medical guidance across a broad spectrum of related conditions.

Regarding fentanyl as a narcotic, I feel ambivalent. People don’t become addicts solely by enjoying sweets; there are complex circumstances that I believe cannot be addressed purely through criminal justice.

Labelling fentanyl as a weapon of mass destruction would be narrow-minded and lacking understanding of human suffering, especially in pain management.

Learning from Recent Experience

My perspective is personal. I am cautious with medications, aware of their addiction potential. Recently, I used codeine, which converts to morphine in the body, to manage penile and urethral pain during the fourth week of radiotherapy for prostate cancer.

Prescribed to be taken up to four times daily, I rarely exceeded two tablets a day. After three days, I only took one tablet at night. I still felt pain and discomfort, but consciously avoided the lengthy process of weaning off codeine once my body adjusted.

As long as those who truly need such pain management are not disadvantaged by misguided policies, I hope this decision by the White House does not, in pursuit of an ideal, create suffering for many who simply seek relief.

Pain in my blogs

Blog - In hospital to kill the pain

Blog - Getting off the pain train

Blog - Generally responsive and dealing with pain

Blog - Stronger medicine and another course of chemo

Blog - Boldly tell your doctor everything

Blog - Off and back on the pain patch

Blog - Opinion: Where addiction and tragedy can confuse issues

Blog - Knowing pain is personal