I spent a day with my ageing parents last week how wonderful it was too.
Watching them is to appreciate and understand the nuances of growing old.
I miss seeing them regularly.
The distance of 100 miles or so doesn’t sound like much, but when you have a busy life, two businesses to manage and children to oversee, and parents who have a better social life than me, finding time in the diary isn’t; always easy.
Growing old is expected but certainly not welcomed.
Women face an aggressive beauty industry that worships youthfulness; imperfections and wrinkles are hidden and not revered, for they suggest a life well-lived.
The health industry is not far behind with constant reminders to exercise and eat sensibly.
The prospect of old age rears its ugly head, I realise that I’m not ready to transition into old age just yet.
While my children remind me that maybe I ‘”don’t get it”, I strongly disagree.
I get them; I understand them and their angsts.
I don’t get their lack of resilience and their inability to use common sense and foresight.
But can they be blamed for an education system and a political society that dictates how we think and feel?
It’s ironic as I remember the similarities with my parents when I was a teen.
With age comes a sense of acknowledgement and acceptance not just in oneself but in others.
Ask me if I would go back to my thirties?
The pressure of work, relationships, getting married and divorced, no thanks. I enjoy the freedom that age gives me.
“One of the many things nobody ever tells you about old age is that it’s such a nice change from being young”. – William Feather.
The insecurities and worry being left on the shelf and the constant innuendoes at Christmas parties.
Have you got a boyfriend, have you met anyone with whom you want to start a family, when are you getting married? Why don’t you have a boyfriend?
No thanks. I’ll park that if you don’t mind.
I am finding that ageing makes me less frantic and more accepting of my imperfections and flaws, and I am more relaxed about it.
My once washboard stomach looks more like a gently undulating walk, but it’s not a complete disaster.
I appreciate my parent’s wisdom and advice more than ever, and I enjoy being with them, which comes with age and distance.
I don’t care what others think about me. I am my own woman, and I don’t need acceptance or acknowledgement from social media to make me feel good or bad about myself.
I understand better my priorities and will put family ahead of work any day.
I disagree and articulate my opinion and don’t care if anyone disagrees or tuts at my point of view, confident that they probably think I’m already senile.
I view life with a greater perspective and can often break down situations and people to better understand.
I don’t worry about what I wear; while I love fashion, I have a good sense of style and dress in what suits me, and I feel comfortable.
I am hardened to the absurdities and irony of life and what goes around is very definitely coming around again.
While most human beings scare the heck out of me, I have low expectations, and I am rarely disappointed.
I continue to be my own worst enemy, but while I accept my limitations, I know menopause affects the way I feel a lot of the time.
I’ve accepted that I can’t change many things or exert my influence; however, I concentrate on doing what I am good at as best as possible.
As I journey beyond middle age, I know that I am a work in progress.
Accepting myself and understanding that maybe I will never be at peace, nor entirely comfortable with my place in life, constantly striving and looking for that ‘thing’ that will change my life.
I am gaining inner strength and fortitude, embracing new opportunities when I can and as I grow more self-aware, I feel a sense of liberation.
I am old enough to cast aside doubts, dare to dream and live my age to the full.