Marking Time.   That’s what we call marching in place, stomping our feet purposefully into the ground while pulling our knees up parallel to the ground, not just limply stepping in place.  When I was a band kid, back in the 70s, our version of marching was a proud strutting down the road, keeping lines and parallels straight while roll-stepping that gave us the appearance of gliding.  Ours was the purpose of being one instead of many—a single unit that moved the audience with our movements as well as our music.

But why am I thinking about that now?  Today I turned 65.  For some reason, I need to make sense of this moment, and in many ways it feels like I’m marking time.  I remember standing at the line where we’d been practicing our field drill for a week straight, hours every day and night, and having to step out of the ditch that we’d created for ourselves while marking time in place.  The dent at the line was helped along by the rains that week that we powered through, even singing our music while learning our steps instead of exposing our instruments to the weather.   Today feels like I’ve been standing at the line, waiting to get started with the next show, waiting to hear, “You may take the field,” from the announcer at a competition.

For many, this time seems like the end of an era, but I believe it’s also a beginning.  I’m not retiring anytime soon.   Unless I win the lottery tomorrow, I’ll be working for five more years to make sure we have the funds to accomplish our dreams.  My husband and I are starting now to push toward our dreams, because so much of our lives has been spent working day to day to keep everything going.   I know we’re not alone.  While I have friends and family who are retired, some much earlier in their lives, I know many who can’t financially step away from the working world.  We have no pensions like our parents had.  We don’t have large IRA accounts, even though we’ve attempted to save where we’ve been able.  For us, we are now at the prime of our careers, financially.  It’s only recently that we’ve been able to invest in land and the possibility of creating something of our very own—a small farm that we’ll work the rest of our lives.

But stepping out of that ditch we’ve created for ourselves can be daunting.  Marching ahead and showing the world what we’re made of, playing our own brand of music loudly, for all to hear.  If we’re not careful, that first step can see us turning an ankle and falling (and we don’t want to think about getting back up at our age!).  We’ve been working toward something that most would never consider in our 60s—a new project, learning all we need to be successful and investing our time and money as well as our hearts.  There are moments (many of them) where I feel this is folly.  “I can’t do this!”  Yet I know we can. 

Sixty-five is not the beginning of the end.  It’s the beginning of our new beginning.  So today, I say, “Happy Birthday to Me!”  I’m going to enjoy every moment and try not to think about my aching feet, my high cholesterol or why I stepped into the next room a moment ago.  I’m going to step off that line with confidence, holding my head high and remembering what it was like to do the same 50 years ago.   I may not be in the band anymore, but that memory, as well as many others, will guide me through this next drill until I can take a bow much later, at the finale!