The other day, I got a haircut from my longtime stylist, a sports-loving man in his 20s with a toddler at home.

We were talking about politics. Actually, we were talking about how it’s generally a bad idea to talk about politics. He related stories about arguments he had gotten into with old men, men he variously defined as being in their 50s and exactly 60.

I did not tell him that I would be turning 60 in roughly three weeks.

I was flattered that he did not for a minute think of me as one of those old men. I could tell he didn’t because at no point did he backpedal and tell me how young I seemed, as one does when he is in the middle of painting someone in a bad light and he realizes the person he is talking to has a lot in common with the subject of his story. When he did not feel the need to lie to me and tell me how young I seemed compared to the old men he was lambasting, I knew how young (or, at any rate, ageless) I must genuinely seem to him.

I don’t go out of my way to seem young (or, at any rate, ageless). In fact, some people might want to go out of their way at times and accuse me of being immature. I try not to be immature in any of the ways that force any exasperated adults in my general vicinity to be extra mature to compensate for my lack of maturity. But it is true that I never had to rediscover my inner child because he has always been at the forefront of things. In fact, he may have no choice every so often but to climb back inside me and rediscover the inner adult Steve.

So, in spite of this or because of this (I haven’t figured out which), I am actually excited to turn 60.

I was actually more upset about turning 25 than I am about turning 60. At 25, I thought I hadn’t accomplished enough up to that point in my life and that I was, therefore, destined for failure.

At 60, I know I haven’t accomplished enough up to this point in my life and I am, therefore, destined for happiness.

That’s a glib way of saying that at 25, I didn’t like myself and thought I had to become a totally different person to earn the acceptance of specific and implied individuals, many of whom were secretly more miserable and clueless than I was.

At 60, I like myself as I am and I no longer pander to the secretly more miserable and clueless. I long ago traded to-do lists that were not of my making for my own.

When they turn 60, a lot of people hastily compile a bucket list of items that involve the sides of mountains, the bottoms of oceans and what is often called “thin air,” probably because it lacks several qualities that help keep humans alive.

I will not be one of these people. The following words will never escape my lips: “Do you know what my arthritic knees and plantar fasciitis need, Martha? Some time spent standing on small footholds 4,840 feet above a valley floor.” And it’s not just because my wife’s name isn’t Martha.

No, I plan to spend my 60s on terra firma, being comfortable in my own skin.

I still go to the gym, but I no longer dream of having washboard abs.

Instead, I want to develop a washboard mind and a washboard soul and a series of washboard analogies that are too weird to resonate with anybody. Being 60 means not caring whether you are too weird to resonate with anybody.

Remember in 2019 when the actress Kelly McGillis was asked why she hadn’t been approached to assay a role in the “Top Gun” sequel? Her answer: “I mean, I’m old and I’m fat, and I look age-appropriate for what my age is, and that is not what that whole scene is about.”

“That whole scene.” There’s a lot of meaning packed into those three words.

She later added, “I’d much rather feel absolutely secure in my skin and who and what I am at my age as opposed to placing a value on all that other stuff.”

Folks, I am not going to write anything bad about Tom Cruise, but we’re all supposed to admire him and feel bad for McGillis, aren’t we? And for me, it’s the opposite. Kelly McGillis, I understand. I am not sure I want to understand Tom Cruise.

The Japanese have the concept called kanreki. In Japan, turning 60 is seen as a rebirth. It is the start of a new stage in life.

Turning 60 is a cause for celebration.

That is genuinely how I feel right now.

The best is yet to come.