So, okay, recently I turned forty.
Yes, I know. Forty.
There really is no way around it, I’m old. No, don’t bother contradicting that one, it is fairly much programmed into my cells that I’m past it. I can confirm to myself that I’m in good (enough) health, that I have vigour, strength and a fair amount of humour to keep me going, but the fact remains:
You say ‘Forty’ and I see this.
I’m surrounded by friends of the same age, who are equally lovely, smart and vivacious, and that is a comfort – life is not over, merely moved to a more mellow key. The speedy, at times thoughtless velocity of youth moves into a more thoughtful, slower middle age*. I am very, very glad that the huge gaping mistakes and gaffs of my youth are not my common experience any more. My older self looks back at the rather fantastic size of my youthful mistakes and cringes. But still. Still.
It seems that I have, yet again, another element of my personality, existence, what have you, that I have trouble accepting. Whoopee. If that doesn’t happen every Tuesday already. Nonetheless, I hesitate to end the blog on a depressed note. So I leave you with this musical number. A big hit in, you guessed it, the year I was born. Enjoy.
*(I’m middle aged. Dear God.)