For years I have been told that I was a baby-boomer by nature of my birth date. Time and again I heard the 1946-1964 range cited as the definitive boundaries. But I’ve never really felt like I was part of that generation and its peculiar experiences and ethos. I was five when Woodstock happened. At some point during my late teens I did feel a desire to be part of that generation, but ever since I’ve dreaded the association.
Last year I was at a talk by Gordon Bell where he referred to a book on generational transitions called The Fourth Turning. I read the book and found it fascinating, but was especially relieved to learn that by its definition (1943-1960), I am not a boomer. Of course, I’m not sure I’m what they call me either, but "not a boomer" is a moniker I can wear with pride and relief. As long as there’s some money left in Social Security when I turn 65.