I’m uncertain how this has occurred but it seems I’m not getting any older. At least this is what a lot of my friends are saying to me. “You don’t look any older than you did ten years ago” is often a comment. One of my mates (who is twelve years younger than me) and I met up for a drink recently after a gap of six years. When he saw me, he said “You are obviously going to live past a hundred.” I used to be ...I’ve just this minute realised that writing “I
used to be...” dates me! Oh well! I used to be a risk- taker but now I sit looking at a screen. And I have to us glasses to read books or phone and computer screens.
But I don’t need glasses to see where I’ve hit my golf ball. This might mean that I can’t hit it very far but I don’t think so. It was a devastating day
when I recently bought my first pair of glasses. And now I have six pairs. They live on my
desk, in the kitchen, in the car, in the bathroom, in the shed etc. What puzzles me is when I
can’t find a pair and set off hunting, only to find all six pairs in the one spot. What is the
meaning of this?
I’m not getting any older but regularly I find myself at the letter box or at the fridge and I
can’t remember why I’m there so I re-trace my steps only to find myself in the office and the
same thing occurs.
I’m not getting any older but after I’ve showered and washed my hair there is enough hair trapped in the shower drain to make a wig. I can’t begin to explain how this unnerves
and upsets me.
Is it really true that you are only as old as you feel? If so, it means that I could be anything between thirty two and ninety eight depending on how well I slept the night before or
how much alcohol I drank. I reluctantly have to inform you that my birth certificate puts me in my mid-seventies but I’m challenging the accuracy of this. Have I gone
silently passed middle age? I don’t think so and if I have, I didn’t notice. I can confidently
admit I’m NOW approaching middle age, SO THERE! New research has found that
seventy four is the start of old age where previous research said that sixty five was the
start. So when does the chance of having a mid-life crisis occur? Who knows but it isn’t
going to get me. This whole subject shits me because we all get lumped into the same
category because of a number. Well, I’m not joining in any category, you can all go to hell.
I love being middle aged! I don’t care about anything. I don’t have to wear a suit and look
cool anymore. I don’t even care if my footy team wins or draws. I don’t care about anyone
and I care even less what anyone thinks of me. The old adage said “At twenty we worried
about what people thought of us; at forty we don’t care what they think; at sixty we learn
that they haven’t been thinking about us at all.” What happens when we are eighty? Well,
I don’t care about that either.
A major benefit of reaching middle age (like I am) is the utter relief that you don’t need to
compete in the fashion stakes any longer. Near enough is good enough. Does this shirt
go with these trousers? Who cares? A dedicated follower of fashion? You have to be
joking and you look like a joke if you even attempt it these days. People don’t notice me
at parties anymore, no matter what I wear. Perhaps they never did! I don’t notice them
either, particularly if I‘ve left my glasses at home. I’m ecstatic when I look in the mirror
these days as the blurred look is much softer and I can see there is no need to shave
more than twice a week.
So I keep exercising and pretending that I’m not running any slower than I did years ago. I
do my regular yoga at home so I’m not comparing myself to all the younger people in a
class. The double twist, the downward dog and the shoulder stand are no trouble at all.
The plough makes me feel a bit rusty but at least I can still do it! Quiet panic is never far
away though as I often have difficulty getting up
off the mat.
No-one prepares you for the unexpected little shocks which confront you now and then as
you age. I was checking my body in the mirror this morning after a shower to make sure no
bits had fallen off when I noticed that one nipple was half an inch lower than the other. I flexed my pectoral as best I could flex it then spread my arms. No change. One nipple is lower than the other. Maybe it has always has been lower? I’m kidding myself. I have to learn to live withthese challenges. This may be the beginning of the end. There has been a lot of ends lately. Every week there is another movie star, rock
star, unknown star, burnt out star, would be star who have left the stage for the last time. “Why did he die?” I yell at the TV, “He was only eighty one.” Yelling at the television is a damming indicator as well but who cares?
So my adventurer persona has been quietly buried and all I want now is a warm bed and a
good cuppa tea. There are no alarm bells sounding as I’ve realised that I’m flexible,
adaptable, positive and I can still play a mean air guitar when I’m in the mood (and when
no-one is watching). I’d really like to include a selfie in this article but I don’t recognise the
bloke in the photo. He really doesn’t look like me. He looks, well, older and a bit worn out.
Thank you for reading this far but I need to have an afternoon nap now. I might write a
follow-up article to this in a few years when I’m experiencing old age.
John A Wilson, Gold Coast, August 2017
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