Healthwise, being sixty sucks. My dear dad died this year. I was with him at the end and glimpsing my own possible demise, being, gulp, sixty, and mourning my dad was enough to pump my blood pressure to dangerously high levels and awaken the sleeping chicken pox virus I had as a child that developed into shingles.
As you get older you do get better because the expression of yourself in all aspects of your life means that you have the freedom to make your own rules, discover your own rhythm and pace your life the way it suits you. Getting older means that you see yourself as the actual person you are, warts and all, always ready to be willing and wiser.
How do you know when you're old? None of my peers seem to know they're old. Even after they see their wrinkles and gray hair, whine about arthritic pain and celebrate another monumental birthday, all I ever hear them say is, "I'm getting old." They don't get the connection between those old age signs and actually being old.
For me, the way out is to remain very much connected to the word at large, but to also have created my own rainbow colored bubble, that I can happily step into at will and enjoy the true beauty of life beyond idiotic ideologies propagated by corporations and institutions that prey on our vulnerabilities in order to keep cashing in. Is that good enough?