Reflections in the Year of the Fire Horse

“How long has it been since our last call?” No one could remember, but we agreed that a year or two had elapsed since the four of us convened on Zoom for what used to be a monthly virtual gathering while in-person contact was restricted. The free-flowing discussion covered the usual topics—our families, health concerns minor or major, the latest streaming sensation heating up so many screens and igniting imaginations. ... And by the way, any special birthday plans this year?

This is an especially meaningful moment to reconnect with my Wellesley classmates. According to the Chinese lunisolar calendar, many of us were born in the last Year of the Fire Horse (between Jan. 21, 1966, and Feb. 8, 1967) and are observing a milestone birthday. As a number of traditional cultures maintain, 60 is the age at which one completes a full life cycle and embarks on the next.   

Several of us have not made it this far. Whether or not we individually knew each classmate who has passed away, I believe that, on some level, we carry them with us as we continue the journey.

Recently, I shared this reflection about approaching the 60 mark with several classmates and other Wellesley friends: It has become more vital—and easier than ever—to be honest with myself and to be accountable for that. Hearing my inner voice speak with increasing certainty, clarity, and consistency, priorities and decisions small or big are readily self-evident. I feel lifted while standing on firm ground.

My cohort echoes a similar sense of arrival at a solid place in their beings. Based on my informal polling of other alums who are older and much wiser than I am, this state of feeling free and unencumbered often comes with the territory as we age. Another piece of sage advice is to begin thinking through the tangible details of our lives in five to 10 years and beyond, as many of us continue transitioning to a different phase; don’t wait until “retirement” to engage in this envisioning.

In place. In character. Hopefully, that is where we are finding ourselves at this stage.

Raise your hand if you can recall this magazine’s summer 2015 issue featuring “Dear Me, Letters to My Younger Self.” The compilation generated five published letters to the editor from alums spanning four decades, along with four of the six tweets (remember those?) printed in the subsequent issue. One of the original contributors, poet Cathy Song ’77, observed:

“[The article] was conceived with such sensitivity and insight, honoring what makes Wellesley a cherished refuge of sanity in these present disturbing times—what Robert Bly addresses in The Sibling Society, where celebrity and being forever young are valued over the graceful process of growing older, wiser. Thank you for giving us the place to share our voices. Thank you for including me among so many wise women.”

Now, raise your hand if, in 2015, you had yet to receive or write a personal letter on paper, or if Wellesley was still a remote—perhaps unknown—part of your future. Wherever you were then, and might now be in your life’s journey, what would you tell your younger self? Or ask your older self?

At the halfway point between 30 and 90, in the spirit of travel and letter writing, I am curious how those of us on the cusp of 60 would approach “Dear Me, Questions for My Older Self” to mirror insights and sentiments intended for our younger selves.

If you’re game for a word problem designed by an English major who aced Introduction to Mathematical Thought: Using 60 as the midpoint, and accounting for individual place of original departure, distance, speed, and time, plot the current location of Y’s journey.

Hint: Pen(cil) and paper yield different results from screen applications.

And safe travels.