Seven things that surprised me about being in my seventies

Renee Lang is 74 and happy about it – most of the time. Below she lists seven things that surprised her about this decade.

Now and again the year of my birth will arise in some context or other. Suffice to say if my mother had hung on for just a few more weeks I could lay claim to being born in the 1950s, albeit in the first week, maybe even the first day of 1950. This would somehow be much more desirable than the ’40s with its overtones of war and general depression. But no, in the second-to-last month of that decade, I arrived on the scene to less than jubilant applause. My parents’ attempt at producing another son after two daughters had been thwarted yet again.

All this is by way of me trying to come to terms with the fact that I’m now into my seventies and cannot stop asking myself, how the hell did this happen? Don’t get me wrong. Given I’m past the three score and 10 that was allotted to humanity for most of the last century, I’m definitely not complaining. I’m reasonably fit and healthy and have managed to retain most if not all of my marbles, so what’s not to like?

But over the scarily impressive number of decades I’ve been around, things have changed, mostly for the good, as have I. Here are some of the things that surprise me .

There is an aspect of ageing that I used to appreciate but now think is well meant but actually just a tiny bit insulting. It’s when people pretend mock horror when you reveal your age. You know the kind of thing: “But you don’t look a day over 55/60/65!” (take your pick). It’s as if looking your age is somehow to be avoided at all costs, that there’s something quietly disgraceful about it, you’ve “given in” to grey hair and gravity. I used to be flattered by this, but not anymore.

Yes I’m one of those despicable boomers who bought a house just before I turned 30. Never mind that within a few years I was paying an interest rate of 22%, which came very close to being the end of my foray into home ownership. But I survived that along with a couple of redundancies and life went on in an occasionally chaotic but mostly enjoyable way for the next couple of decades.

Then, thanks to a couple of bad real estate decisions and subsequent dramas I found myself contemplating moving out of Auckland. The Auckland that I’d lived in for more than 30 years. The Auckland that I loved and where all my friends lived. The Auckland where I could eat out at almost any time at whim. And so, at the age of 64, I upped sticks and moved all the way down to Nelson where I now lead a very different sort of life.

Even though property in Auckland was on the rise at the time I still had to borrow for my new home and it looks as if the mortgage I now have will be with me to the end. But I don’t see it as a problem. It’s not a huge mortgage and my payments are probably less than the extra fees that some of those retirement villages charge on a weekly basis.

Yes, I know that after many years of paying tax I’m entitled to superannuation, and it's not a huge amount of money, but the novelty has not yet worn off. It’s probably relevant to say at this point that I’m a single woman and have been officially so for all my adult life, despite various romantic entanglements over the years. While this status has mostly suited me well, it’s meant there’s been no other income which, at times, has made life tricky.

The other point to make about my move to Nelson is that age does not have to be a deterrent when deciding to make a major change. And while I had friends to hold my hand to a certain extent, the really serious parts of moving house – selling my Auckland home and buying one in Nelson – was down to me and only me. I’d already moved house an alarming number of times so the actual physical move wasn’t too daunting, but what does surprise me is that, given the longest I’ve ever lived in any house is five years, I’m still in the same house. This is mostly good luck, rather than good management, as I was fortunate to find a modest but comfortable house in a sunny spot – important as the winters here can be brutally cold – that’s close to the CBD, yet has a lovely park just 200 metres down the road.

Twenty-odd years ago I made the decision to leave the comfort of a regular salary, company car and medical insurance and dive into the world of working freelance. It’s been an interesting – and occasionally nail-biting – time and was largely responsible for my decision to move south. But to my ongoing delight, I still have a number of clients, so I’m able to ensure that my much-loved animals continue to lead the most comfortable of lives. And perhaps I wouldn’t have that semi-regular trickle of income at this “great age” if I’d played it safe and carried on working for someone else.

There’s a lot of advertising bent on convincing the public at large that one doesn’t have to age invisibly – instead why not be colourful and eccentric (not to mention flexible of limb as well as mind), while living in mostly affluent and rather white communities that, interestingly, are based on lots of rules? Contradictory. Much. So nah, not for me.

No, I’m not a mad old cat lady but I really can recommend having an animal or two around the place. Like most, I’ve nearly always had a cat and still do. But it’s only relatively recently that the scales have fallen from my eyes regarding the love and loyalty that comes from living with a dog. I probably should admit that for years I’d always thought dogs were somewhat overrated; for a start they’re much more needy than cats, which didn’t suit me at all in my previous life. How things have changed. I’m quite sure I owe much of my robust good health to the daily walks demanded by my adored Labradors, but they don’t come cheap. Good quality food, vet bills and pet insurance have largely taken the place of travel, new clothes and meals out. But do you hear me complaining? All things considered, life is good.

Renee Lang is a writer and freelance editor based in Nelson.