I had to fill a form out for one thing and another recently which required me to tick an age bracket. The demographic breakdown was as follows:
Under 12 years old
12-17 years old
18-24 years old
25-34 years old
35-44 years old
45-54 years old
55-64 years old
65-74 years old
75 years or older
I sobbed inwardly as I ticked the relevant box and vowed it wouldn’t upset me that I had nearly 6 categories under my belt with just 3 to go, but here I go again writing about lost youth, unfinished business and feeling, well, a bit, meh.
My day-job was threatened recently – Covid19 and all that jazz. I didn’t quite get the ‘Dear John’ letter, but I felt very much that I had become a burden to the guy I have worked with for over 25 years. It was a kick up the derriere I needed, I suppose, but I felt vulnerable and exposed. It’s OK - I am still in employment for now, but am very much feeling that the heyday has happened, the me that was, is no more, and boredom has set in. Reflecting on what the heck have I done with the last 25 years should make me feel as I have to get up and get it all back – but I don’t. Instead I wallow in limbo, limping from one excuse to the next and wonder what an earth I am doing with my life.
I cannot put my finger on the exact day I felt middle aged, but I look in the mirror and can’t see the person I thought I would be by now. The 50ish year-old-me wasn’t supposed to have dark shadows and stress lines, a permanently furrowed brow and anxiety that peaks at inconvenient moments. When I was younger, I imagined I would be a care-free kinda-gal, one who would have a passport in one hand, and a drink of champagne in the other. One who would go away for long weekends of gossip and shopping with girlfriends; or jump on a plane on a whim, stealing long romantic weeks away with my husband. What I didn’t obviously factor in was who would look after the kids and dog; or get the bins in; or do my job - and forgot completely that I actually hate gossiping and shopping and what appealed to me back then fills me with dread if I had to do it now. But you may get my point. Me at 20 had a different set of values and priorities. The thought of staying in at all on a Friday or Saturday night when I was 20 was just horrific. Now, it takes one hell of a party to get me out of my PJs, preferring instead to snuggle up with loved ones to Goggle-Box on a Friday and Strictly on a Saturday. What is important to me now, I never envisaged when I was tearing around pubs and clubs in my youth, drinking for England and snogging inappropriate people.
I do realise I sound a bit put out by the fact I have reached maturity. I am not. I just need to give myself a shake and introduce a bit of adventure and life back. So, that is what I have been trying to do recently. Starting with this blog. Writing is something I have been wanting to do for a very long time but was too worried what other people would say or think. Now I just don’t care - so that’s why you get me, once a week, spouting stuff.
This year, Covid-19 aside – I have tried to say ‘Yes’ a bit more to the quirky, more adventurous side of me. Tried to be a bit more spontaneous – things that may not be as glamorous as jetting off to a tropical island for a long weekend – but still has managed to satisfy the strangely frustrating wanderlust that lives inside me. I said yes to boating on the Broads with a friend I have known for 35 years, who has invited me yearly to join him; and I finally relented and had the best time, even managing to avoid crashing when we tried to moor up for the night after consuming half of Norfolk’s cider. I said yes to a last-minute invite from another old friend, who came up to the coast to stay in her caravan – I took my dog and we sat and chatted all night like we were 14 again. I said yes to a suggestion from another dear friend, that we should do an Autumnal sea swim in the dark and cold, which was one of the most liberating sea-swims I think I have done – as well as being dark, we decided to go commando for the last few minutes. Running, freezing, giggling like silly schoolgirls back up the beach trying to find our clothes before getting spotted by a random night fisherman, is an image which will stay with me for some time.
It is easy to wallow in limbo and wait for the excitement to happen – dreaming of far flung adventures and exotic skies. However, in particular, the last few months, I have felt that life just keeps on happening anyway – the wheel is still turning, time isn’t slowing down, and we ARE getting older, despite getting cross about it. So instead of waiting for things to happen, I think I am going to continue to shake it up a bit and make up a few of my own adventures and bring back the spontaneity. I’m going to say yes to things I would like to do, and a great big no to things I don’t. I’m going to turn left sometimes instead of right, to see where the new direction will take me. I’ll just do it.
Of course, we still need the mundanity of Bake-Off and the predictability of a yawning Monday morning – we need the banality, as without it we would be a nation of holidaying hedonists. But I really do believe that if I sit around waiting for life to happen to me, it will speed on by anyway, whether I like it or not, with or without me, and I am just going to miss out. 2020 has felt like a wasted year as it is, but one thing it has taught me, is that you just cannot plan for anything. I have to stop worrying about what age bracket I am in now, forget the image I had in my head of what I thought I would be like at 50+ - and focus on the plus points of the person I am now. The someone who is grateful for her family, who has been lucky in love, with two fabby sons, one flabby belly, a collection of wrinkles and a handful of ace mates, old and new, who let me be my true silly self when I am with them.
© The Real Tilly Fairfax
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