Sixty, Isun, Yesun

As the author approaches sixty, he contemplates the nuanced ways this age is expressed in Korean: 'yuksip' (육십), 'isun' (이순), and 'yesun' (예순). 'Yuksip' is a stark numerical count, reducing individuals to statistics for retirement, pensions, and productivity. It prompts questions about continued work capacity and entitlements, often leading to anxiety and a feeling of being defined solely by age rather than lived experience. This numerical perspective, while precise, can strip away the human face, leaving only a 'trembling uncertainty.'

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Sixty is a number. It is the language of calendars, resident registration cards, hospital questionnaires, and statistical tables.

'Yuksip' can also morph into a language of entitlement, where longevity is seen as a reason for societal concessions. While acknowledging the need for care and stability for the elderly, the author cautions against reducing a person's life, their endured times, cared-for relationships, and work histories, to a mere financial burden. This perspective can become arrogant, implying that having endured hardship grants a license to be less learned or to impose one's past ways as universally correct.

In contrast, 'isun' (이순), derived from Confucius's saying about reaching an age of receptive listening, suggests a detached, transcendent wisdom. The author finds this ideal burdensome and distant, implying a separation from the world's complexities and a tendency to judge younger generations as impatient or superficial. This view risks becoming a convenient way to distance oneself, rather than engaging with the differing realities faced by younger people, whose worlds are marked by precarious work, fleeting relationships, and deferred futures.

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The boundary is easily drawn, especially in front of young people. It is easy to say that people these days lack patience, that the world has become too superficial, and that their words have become too harsh.

The author finds solace and authenticity in 'yesun' (예순). This term, he suggests, is neither as cold as 'yuksip' nor as lofty as 'isun.' It is an age where one is still seated among people, beginning to let go rather than to conclude. It allows for the softening of old pronouncements in the face of new language and ideas. Actress Jodie Foster's reflections on turning sixty, no longer competing with her past self, finding less importance in things that once consumed her, and feeling excitement in enabling others, resonate with this idea.

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There is something truly beautiful about turning sixty. You wake up one day and realize that the things you worried so much about in your forties and fifties are no longer that important.

'Yesun' can be understood as 'yet-운' (옛운), accepting past achievements, prides, and hurts as transient fortunes ('운') rather than possessions. It involves acknowledging the role of chance and collective good fortune in one's successes. This acceptance leads to a resilient, yet softer, engagement with the world. Resistance to injustice remains, but it is tempered with a desire not to alienate others. The gentleness of sixty is not weakness, but a strength that binds people more inclusively and durably, allowing one to fight and act without friction, and to embrace the unknown with a quiet humility.

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The gentleness of sixty is not a weakening, but a strength that binds people more generously and durably.