I’ve had an mixed relationship with my age over the years. As a teenager I couldn’t wait to be 25. I don’t know why 25 appealed, it just did. I used to assume that I would be married and have my first child by the time I was 28. Turned out to be 36. As I’ve gotten older its changed a bit. Now when people say they’d love to be younger I don’t understand why. And that got me to thinking that at nearly 44 I am probably officially middle aged. So I looked for some signs……
1. Watching teenagers having a snowball fight across one of the streets in our town yesterday and thinking how cold their hands must be.
2. Saying in my head (and occasionally out loud) “Jaysus that young one must be frozen” on seeing a young woman in probably her very early twenties out for the night in a very short and skimpy dress.
3. Referring to women in their early twenties as young ones.
4. Curling up on the sofa with a sigh of relief after a rare night out having kicked off uncomfortable shoes and changed into leggings and a tshirt to watch TV for a while
5. Admitting that a lot of women’s shoes are bloody uncomfortable.
6. Not needing to examine my face for lines any more. I know where they are.
7. Reading about some famous person who has achieved such and such by such an age and realising they are at least 20 years younger than me.
8. Not having a clue who most of the people on Celebrity Big Brother are. I don’t watch it but a few years ago I would have at least heard of them!
9. Having an increasing fondness for nostalgia programmes (that might have something to do with being a history nut)
10. Reading back over this list and realising none of this bothers me. In fact, most of it reads as quite sensible or logical (to me).
And that, my friends, for me is the true sign of middle age – acceptance and contentment with who and what I am.