Boston Sunday Globe Magazine (September 6, 2026) https://www.bostonglobe.com/2026/08/31/magazine/aging-benefits-turning-60/

As I approached a certain age — jokes about favorite stove burners and an addiction to TV subtitles aside — I dreaded the transformation that would come with that milestone. The changes had already begun.

One day we’re atop the food chain, in lockstep with all things Oprah, and the next, poof! We’re wearing slip-on shoes and have become insomniacs with the memory of goldfish, listening to our favorite music now marketed as (gag) “the oldies.” What in the name of Luke and Laura happened to us?

Welp, maybe my posse of high-haired heartbreakers are now hyper-focused on bone density. And the challenges keep coming. For starters, my face cream comes in very tiny, glass jars priced like roundtrip airfare. I apply my makeup while looking into the magnifying mirror and wearing cheaters. No tummy control in those pants? No thank you.

The daily must-dos on my Certain Age Checklist have become a dizzying blur. I’ve lost track of all the supplements I’m supposed to toss into my smoothie. Wait, I’m not getting enough protein? Oh, it doesn’t matter because I can’t hear you, and I’m too busy fibermaxxing.

I resigned myself to falling apart because I assumed that was life’s recipe. If I sit in a car too long these days, I emerge feeling like I’ll never walk right again. I’ve woken up with frozen shoulder, diverticulitis, and hey! most recently, plantar fasciitis for absolutely no attributable reason. Think excruciating foot pain is unique to elite runners or cheap shoes? Ha! This non-athlete with a closet full of Birkenstocks would like a word. Experience has taught me I must simply wait out the ailment du jour until it decides to go dormant again.

But when my milestone birthday, an advent that loomed in my mind like horror movie mist, came and went without so much as a new white chin whisker, I thought, Dayum, I feel great. Really, great. I still went out and got in all my steps, but I winced a little less at my nasty green tea, and joyfully texted my kids using correct punctuation. That’s right: Nothing had changed, and I didn’t need an Advil.

I let all that must-do static go silent and ripped that checklist into confetti. I was done with chasing the recommended requisites.

I’m learning to embrace my Certain Age — and, despite the occasional creaks and mystery pains, my happiness is intact. I’m thriving, actually, flexing a devil-may-care attitude when it comes to just about everything. I don’t talk to people I don’t like, I abandon shows midway through if they stink, and I shamelessly wear a captain’s hat to all my yacht rock — excuse me, oldies — concerts. I don’t doomscroll or worry about the end of time: AI is coming for me? Please, get in line, robot, right behind the Snapchat filters. My precious time is all mine now and it’s exhilarating.

Curious about my mysterious uptick in confidence and contentment, I called up Deborah Carr, a sociology professor and director of Boston University’s Center for Innovation in Social Science. Coincidentally, I reached her on the eve of her own milestone birthday.

The phrase “gray hair, don’t care” isn’t just a retort, Carr pointed out. “As we get older,” she wrote me in a follow-up email, “we care less what other people think about us and use our own standards to evaluate how we’re doing. That is a gift. We stop trying to please others all the time and focus on what is best for ourselves and our loved ones.”

But that’s not all. “Another gift of getting older is that we become better at emotional regulation. That means we just roll with the punches more easily. With each hurdle we overcome or each problem we resolve, we develop a stronger sense of mastery.” As if I couldn’t feel any more marvelous, Carr continued, “By the time you reach age 60, you recognize that a long history of success and coping isn’t just luck. It’s talent, savvy, resilience, resourcefulness, and skill at navigating life’s ups and downs.”

Now that’s something I can put in my smoothie.

It’s funny, my milestone birthday was less a metamorphosis than a declaration of satisfaction for the life I was already living. But I know if I keep this up, facing the next one may be even easier. “Appreciating the good in our lives,” Carr told me, “helps us to age well.” Check and check!

While I want to believe I’m evolving into a badass, it turns out I’m simply following suit. Women thriving in their mature years is actually a common phenomenon — the data backing that up are everywhere. A 2024 AARP survey found that compared with men, women are more likely to say they’re happier as they age, and a dusty 2020 NBC headline even called aging “a woman’s secret power.”

I am far from alone. Gals, welcome to our hair-flip festival. Oprah’s still living her best life, fanny packs are back, and my former Jordache generation has become the Nope, Not Doing That revolution. It’s a glorious time to be alive — with or without fiber — and it turns out (hair flip), those of us of a certain age are definitely still atop that food chain.

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Tina Drakakis is a writer in Plymouth. Send comments to magazine@globe.com.

Tina Drakakis blogs at Eyerollingmom and has been featured in Boston Globe &  Huff Post.  She appeared in the Boston production of “Listen to Your Mother: Giving Motherhood a Microphone” presenting her popular essay The Thinking Girl’s Thong and her work has been featured in NPR’s “This I Believe” radio series. That said, she still places “Most Popular 1984” on top of her list of achievements (next would be as the $100,000 winner on that home improvement reality TV show of 2003 but her kids won’t let her talk about that anymore). A witty mother of four, she takes on cyberspace as Eyerollingmom/Tina Drakakis on Facebook,  Instagram & Threads.  Her fave collection of essays, A Momoir, can be found  here (agent interest ALWAYS WELCOME!)