May Sarton’s books have been part of almost all of my adult life. I discovered and read Journal of a Solitude when I was a young mother. And then, over the years, read most of her journals, some of her fiction, and much of her poetry. This year, I turned seventy and am celebrating it with a year-long reading festival of books related to Seventy, so I happily added her journal, At Seventy, to the top of my reading list. I’m reading it slowly, savoring some of the wonderful passages like the one below, and simply enjoying being with May Sarton again at age seventy!
What is it like to be seventy? If someone else had lived so long and could remember things sixty years ago with great clarity, she would seem very old to me. But I do not feel old at all, not as much a survivor as a person still on her way. I suppose real old age begins when one looks backward rather than forward, but I look forward with joy to the years ahead and especially to the surprises that any day may bring.
I am reading this book as part of my year-long celebration of turning 70 years old.