What’s My Age, Again?

I turned 36 yesterday. I am at that stage of life where I am starting to lose track of the correct number and have to pause and think for a second before I tentatively realise what age I am now.

36 sounds so much older than 35, to me. I have said that about so, so many ages before this, but I feel it this time more than ever.

36 is an adult, 36 is close to 40, 36 is ten years away from age 46, and how can I be ten years away from 46??

Age is a weird thing. I certainly feel younger than I am, except when I’ve been sat on the floor for too long and have to take my time getting up and then stretch out my legs for a while.

I look in the mirror and I see more wrinkles and have to double-check that the lighter bit of hair at the top of my forehead isn’t actually grey and it’s just the light (it’s just the light, I swear).

The age of 36 sounds scary to me. But I think that is some lingering feeling from long ago that I haven’t yet shook off, when I was younger and 35 was my scary age – the age where you were closer to 40 than 30, and the age that I’ve always thought of as middle-aged.

Now, I’m not scared. I am loving getting older. I am grateful and excited and lucky, and only a teensy bit apprehensive.

I am at the point where I am annoyed at others when they are turning 30 soon and can’t believe how incredibly old they are!!! I want to tell them: Shut the fuck up, you’re just a child! You’re lucky to be getting older – not everyone gets this chance, be grateful, kid!

But I don’t because that would be twattish of me and I was the same at that age.

With each decade comes the realisation that the significant age you have in your head isn’t as old as you once thought – there’s still some life left in the old dog yet at 40! I’ve only been 36 for around 36 hours and yet I’m already using phrases that I never even uttered before.

What is it we’re actually scared of? We know what the alternative to getting older is. For me, I think it’s the thought of looking old, of SEEMING old, of not being young and cool and hip. The fact that I’ve never been those things appears to be irrelevant.

I do wish it was something that we could all get over, and stop worrying about ageing and wrinkles and not being down with the kids. My head tells me 40 is old and something to be scared of, but my sensible and wise old heart tells me getting older is great and a privilege and that I do actually enjoy getting older each year.

Anyway, life is for living and getting older is a part of that – so here’s to being 36 years old (I think) and living life to the full; wrinkles, grey hair and not being able to remember anything notwithstanding.