Whilst I usually breeze through these landmark birthdays, this time it hurt. Truth to tell I’m pissed at turning 60. They say 60 is the new 50, but almost overnight I appear to have morphed into a grumpy, white-haired doppelganger of Spencer Tracy, circa Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner. I’m not a happy bunny.
The value of something is determined by the value of the alternative.
Make a list of the things you always wanted to do – and do them. Time isa runnin’ out.
>The value of something is determined by the value of the alternative.
I know what you mean, but put like this the principle doesn’t work. If we follow the principle then the value of the alternative must also be determined by the value of its alternatives, but that doesn’t ever get us started with a value. More work needed.
Why is there only one alternative?
Being 60 is for the self indulgent. Wait till you are a debonair 76 ( and counting) . You really have to work at age then. Appart from avoiding death watch out for the young whipper snappers who will walk right through you given half a chance.
Being married to a younger woman (71) helps of course.