Coming of Age

There comes a time in your life when you realise your age, and reality hits you all of a sudden – life is running out, and seemingly quicker than ever.

I’ve just arrived here. I’m not sure I like it. I’m not sure I’ve packed the right stuff. I’m not sure where I need to go to now. I never knew I was heading, at speed, to this destination. But here we are…

It’s like everything has changed. And it seemed to happen overnight.

But that’s not true. As you take time to consider and reflect, you realise it’s been wafting about under your nose for quite some time. You’ve just been too busy running around like a headless chicken to notice! And that’s the nature of life, isn’t it?

What was it John Lennon said once? Life is what happens when you’re busy making other plans.

Suddenly I’m 57 & over the course of the last few years I’ve been through some life changing things. Absolutely I’ve had some of the best times of my life too (plans) but now I can see that major shifts were happening while I was running around (life).

I’m not sure I’m entirely happy with it.

It all started with the menopause, well documented, I know. Your body changes into something almost unrecognisable and you have to fight to get people to recognise that and to help you. But nobody warns you.

You get to a point where you start to evaluate your relationships, especially the ones that don’t seem to be serving you anymore. Relationships that have dragged on and you keep turning the water wheel in the hope that they won’t run dry and leave you grounded. Even when you know in your heart that things need to change … it’s one of the hardest things to face.

Then there’s your career. You stay doing the same things, over and over, rolling from one crisis to another, probably becoming part of the problem. Not really re-evaluating. At my age, do you just stick it out on the hamster wheel until you retire? I’m in the autumn of my life, after all. Or do you keep striving for innovation and creativity in a fast moving environment.

And then there’s where you live. You look around at all the empty rooms (I have a four bedroom house) and suddenly everything seems a bit jaded, could probably do with a lick of paint, the boiler needs replacing, the carpets definitely. But at the back of your mind you know the house is going to still be standing long after you’ve gone. But what’s going to happen to all the stuff you’ve collected for 40 years? I’m going to need a very big skip.

And suddenly friends die suddenly. And others are diagnosed with life changing health problems. I’m even in the midst of investigations for my increasing stomach problems – could be gallstones making me ill, or … who knows? A million blood tests, an ultrasound, a camera taking pictures of my insides. Who knows what they might find?

Your parents are 80+ and struggling with health problems every day of their lives. You can do what you can to try to make them comfortable but as my mum says – ‘what’s the point of being 80?’ – as I’m not 80, I couldn’t think of much to cheer her up. I think I said, well at least you’ve got your marbles. I’m not sure that helped.

Then you start to evaluate your pension pot – an absolute minefield of bureaucracy- and your savings and you kind of have to start playing Russian roulette with your investments. Do I take some of my pension tax free now & live it up, will I make it to 80? That’s another 23 years but I’ll probably only be walking for half of that time. I had a meeting with a financial advisor who advised me to save my cash to pay for a really good care home. I disagreed with his logic. Regardless of the thickness of the carpets I’ll probably be sitting in a plastic chair in my incontinence pads, trying to eat my minced food, and being cared for by someone who gets paid the same crap wage no matter how big or beautiful the house I’m trapped in until I die. Shouldn’t I spend my cash now and do some incredible things, I asked him? I could tell by the panic in his eyes that he didn’t think this was the best option.

I’m 57. I’m nearly 60. I don’t know how that happened. I don’t know how I got here, but suddenly I’m aware that the clock is ticking, the sand is draining and the sun is going slowly down on this amazing adventure I’ve been privileged to live. I’ve had such a great life, worked hard, played hard, lived abroad, travelled the world, fallen in love, fallen out of love, I’ve been fit and healthy, pursued my passions relentlessly (not sure that was always appreciated!) and I’ve tried to live a kind and empathic existence, putting people first and trying my best, even when circumstances and fate were chucking boulders at me.

I’ve always known that time on earth is fleeting. It’s something I shook hands with when I was a teenager. It frightened the bejesus out of me when I realised that death could be the end (the jury is still out on that one). It seemed so final at the time, and the future seemed pointless, but I managed to shrug the dread and doom off and I do try to live every day like it’s my last.

But nothing prepares you really for looking age in the face. I’m growing my greys out at the minute, and whilst I quite like the salty and peppery streaks, I can’t help but think it’s a public statement of acknowledging you’re growing old. It’s not the grey hair I’m concerned about, it’s how little life I might have left now. I’d never imagined how that might feel. But I realise I’ve been slowly building up to it. And the more funerals I attend the more reality you face.

So it’s no secret that I ditched some relationships. Marriage was never my thing and uncoupling has been the best thing we’ve done. My situationship was my whole heart but it couldn’t go on in that guise, someone wasn’t being truthful or authentic in all of that, and it needed to go. Nine years in a job was enough and probably too long and, without a doubt, the house needs to go.

I’m almost at the place of being 57 and having very few worldly goods or things to cling on to. Well you know, you can’t take them with you. Things or people.

I look at that ageing woman in the mirror and I wonder where her final journey will take her. I have no idea at the minute. But I do have lots of options and good financial resource. And it excites me to unpick the tapestry of my life, take the lessons of life I’ve learned from it, and scatter it to the wind with all the energy of my youth and middle age. I can watch all that dance in the wind and I can store my memories and take them out every now and then.

But mindful that people in those photographs are slowly disappearing, becoming shadows, as I will one day. I think it’s called coming of age. I’ve arrived at the front door, I was scared to knock, and I’ve no idea what I might find waiting for me.

All I know is that I hope I stay healthy, I hope I find something worthwhile to do with my career which I hope isn’t over (but recruitment doesn’t seem to help the aged!) and I hope I’m gifted the time to tick things off my bucket list and that my friends stick around for us all to watch the leaves falling before our life turns to winter.

That’s a lot of hope. I hope it’s matched with a bit more joy.

I want my energy to contribute to whatever comes next in the world. And as for my legacy? I hope that some of my words, experiences and photographs inspire a new generation of women who can feel confident enough to live independently and explore any adventures that make their heart sing and for them to know that it’s okay to be themselves and to live authentic lives.

I now want to continue ageing disgracefully. Hopefully my stomach will agree.

Phew. I need an afternoon nap now after all that!