8 January 2014

50 is the new 30.

I'm going to be 50 this year.  Don't know quite how to say that without it hurting or it making me reel.

The surprise is quite shocking.

Last year, it was ' next year,' the facing of it could be put off a while yet and it's not like I didn't know it was coming, but the truth is, I still feel so crap at everything.  

I didn't expect to be where I am in my life - struggling to make ends meet, stuck on the shelf, permanently exhausted and still shouting at the kids.

I thought it would mean something more sophisticated, that I might have 'made it' by now, got to where I'm going, that kind of thing.
Alas, it's nothing of the sort, but perspective comes from remembering those who have been taken away too young and not made it this far at all.  A close friend of mine survived a few days past her fortieth Birthday and another lost her husband when he was 46, so, for this, the fact I'm here, healthy (ish) and happy (ish) should be enough. 

Image- Dr Digi's
In an ideal world grabbing a great hotel deal somewhere wonderful would have been my first choice, just to kick back, relax and enjoy being waited on - because it's the least I would deserve, being so ancient, although anywhere hot would nowadays involve an intense amount of sun tan lotion slathering to prevent those tell tale age spots, tonnes of too much breathing in and awkward, clumsy clambering on and off loungers, seeing as stiffness so swiftly takes hold of stillness. 

Not that it would do to say no to one, obviously.  Nor to one nearer home, even.  However, c'est la vie and, having been spoilt rotten on such special occasions previously, I'm not complaining.  My 18th and 21sts were true and fitting Birthday bashes in Bournemouth and Jersey respectively, my 30th was spent cruising somewhere off Queensland, Australia (although the weather was pants and some were seasick, but not so bad it wasn't possible to sup some serious bubbles) and the morning of my 40th was spent at the Grand Hotel in Brighton with my then future husband before booking our future wedding and even though we all know the way that went, it had been exactly what I wanted to do on the day!  

Perhaps my 50th, therefore, marks the beginning of a new era.  It may be just the start of the second half of my life, which is not as inconceivable as one might imagine when my 97 year old Nan is still in fine form, as it's in the genes, so adventures anew might yet beckon.  She says she feels about 30 inside and with two such young children this might be much more of an appropriate age for me to be when they're the reason my life is organized chaos with less emphasis on the organized than one might expect of someone in my advanced years.  

It, therefore, seems fitting not to quash the common rumour that 50 really is the new 30, but please humour me while I get used to it.

How do you feel about getting older?  

Disclosure: This is a collaborative post, but all words are true and my own, obvs!