“Southern Voices” is a reader-submitted series. Today’s personal essay comes from Nashville author Pamela Lamp (Do the Next New Thing and Who I Met Today). She shares a joyful and affirming story about saying “yes” in her sixties and the unexpected magic that followed.
**********
I’ve interviewed dozens of women who are more than 75 years young — fascinating, funny, fierce women. I’ve spoken to interesting, active, engaged, and curious souls to determine their secret sauce. Their favorite decade? Hands down, without exception, their 60s.
What are their thoughts on successful aging? Their responses surprised me. Despite the nostalgia often linked to youth or early adulthood, interviewees consistently reported their 60s as the most enjoyable time of their lives.
In their 60s, they said, they finally hit their stride. They felt good and enjoyed relatively decent health. With the kids grown and out of the house, there was a new sense of freedom. They had more disposable income, fewer responsibilities, and the gift of time.
They delighted in the joy of grandchildren without the daily grind of parenting. They traveled more, laughed more, and said “yes” to things they might’ve once declined. They picked up new hobbies, reconnected with old friends — or made entirely new ones. And for the first time in decades, they began putting themselves first.
And now, halfway through my 60s, I get it.
So! When a friend texted, “Any interest?” to a few of us, I didn’t hesitate. I typed back, “I’m in!” I’d never attended the Nashville Symphony Fashion Show before. I’d admired the after-photos of the fancy people in fancy clothing who did attend. I gazed at the gorgeous flowers, lavish decor, and jaw-dropping runway dresses I could never afford.
The swanky annual event raises funds to support the Symphony’s diverse, low-cost educational and community programs. But let’s be honest: it’s also a big night out. It’s glitter and glam and celebration.
Five of us chimed in. Let’s go! And then came the hard part.
For the next few weeks, a flurry of texts fluttered back and forth between our group. All of us well past 60, we agonized over what to wear. The level of dressiness. The weather forecast. There were photos of outfits. Mirror selfies. Honest critiques and gentle encouragement.
Do you think this dress will work? Maybe with Spanx? Too casual? Will it be too cold for sandals?
Finding cocktail clothes that met our parameters proved more challenging than it used to be. We wanted longer dresses (with sleeves!) to hide our crepey legs, bat-wing arms, and jiggly spots that no amount of crunches would tame. Those sky-high heels we once wore? A hard no.
Before heading to the downtown soirée, the five of us met at our organizer’s home for a splash of champagne to celebrate. We are doing this! Cheers to embracing something new, life north of 60, and our assortment of finery.
Our Uber wound its way through the city, past the Country Music Hall of Fame, the Ryman Auditorium, and the Johnny Cash Museum. On this picture-perfect spring evening, Broadway buzzed with people and music. Tourists poured out of honky tonks, cowboy boots tapping along the sidewalk.
They were not dressed like us.
We pulled up to the curb at one of my favorite buildings in Nashville. Smack dab in the middle of all the mayhem that is Music City sits the marble and granite Schermerhorn Symphony Center.
One at a time, we piled out of the SUV, our gracious driver assisting the five Cinderellas alighting from our golden coach. Like an old-timey clown car, we nervously emerged from the vehicle, carefully placing chunky heels on the sidewalk.
And then we heard … Cheering. Clapping. Shouts.
I looked over my shoulder, assuming a celebrity had stepped out behind us. Nope. The fuss? It was for us.
A group of 30-something women — eight or nine of them — approached with big smiles, still applauding. You look so pretty! I want to be like you when I grow up! I’d love for my mom to be friends with you!
And, just like that, we were stars.
We floated our way into that building and through the magical event. Sipping more champagne, we clinked glasses to celebrate life, friendships, and what lies ahead. We saluted our Sex and the City moment.
News anchor Tracy Kornet emceed the beautiful evening. Designer Pamella Roland’s stunning creations graced the runway. Vince Gill performed a few songs. It was a special night, and I want to get all dolled up and do it again.
Of course, it won’t be as special the second time. It never is. Because we have expectations. And there aren’t as many surprises. And I doubt we’d have another cheering section.
We still giggle about our Carrie Bradshaw moment. That unexpected, spontaneous joy lit something in all of us. It reminded us that age doesn’t mean invisible. That we still turn heads, still sparkle, still matter.
The applause and admiration weren’t just flattering — they were affirming. Sure, our 60s come with thinning hair and veiny legs. We forget names. We can’t hear the TV unless the volume is cranked.
But there’s also confidence. Camaraderie. Courage. This decade can be a time of adventures, accomplishment, and reinvention — if we let it.
What else can I say yes to in my 60s?
I’ve got five more years to attack this decade, to squeeze every drop out of it, and make it the best one yet. And then — maybe — my 70s will be even better.
As an Amazon Associate, we earn from qualifying purchases.
**********
StyleBlueprint would love to hear your story! Find the “Southern Voices” submission guidelines HERE.
