In my teens… I believed that reaching the age I am now was an eternity away.
In my twenties… life was sweet… a little out of control, but I was living it to the full.
In my thirties… I regained control, I was still playing sport at an acceptable level, but still blissfully unaware that time was passing so quickly.
Being forty didn’t faze me either… I celebrated in style, but as I raced towards forty-five, I began to slow down. My joints ached after years worth of sport and I no longer felt the urge to bungee jump off the nearest bridge, but I wasn’t interested in having any nips and tucks to keep my youthful facade. Neither did I allow myself to believe I was middle-aged, I just accepted that I had morphed into my older self, the person I was always destined to become and there were so many things on my bucket list that I needed to do.
“Forty is the old age of youth; fifty the youth of old age.”
It was during the weeks leading up to my fiftieth birthday that I started having nightmares about getting older, about being sixty… not fifty. I would wake myself up screaming this can’t be happening, leaving the scary images of my wrinkled older self in my dream.
When I finally turned fifty… I took it on the chin, although I refused to make any age-appropriate changes to my wardrobe. But, the final insult on reaching that woman of a certain age status was looming just around the corner in the shape and form of THE MENOPAUSE.
With my oestrogen levels at an all-time low, I was concentrating on all the things I wanted to cram in before I became a sexagenarian, an age I imagined, would be a sedentary one, but life got in the way as usual.
My mother had a stroke. After three months of being cared for by the wonderful NHS, she returned to her home in Gloucestershire. I spent the next four years flying to and from Jersey to the UK most weekends. Then, my emotional shit really hit the fan during an eight-month period from Hell. I was made redundant, my brother died, followed by my confidant, my mother, and my aunt.
It was a wake-up call and, since then, I’ve been putting my life into overdrive. I’ve just finished my first novel, taken up QiGong and I breathe in every sunrise and every sunset with renewed wonder.
So don’t let life pass you by, live the dream. LIVE YOUR DREAM! As Joy Baluch said, time marches on. You might not realise it when you are eighteen, twenty or even thirty, but whatever your age, it is never too late to be the person you were always meant to be