I am not twenty-five.
Astonishingly to me at least, no longer even forty-five. But of course, that
doesn’t stop me thinking I am twenty-five,
except when I catch sight of myself in the mirror and wonder why my grandmother
has stepped in front of me. But there is nothing like being around real
twenty-five-year-olds to grasp that strutting about in tartan trousers in
middle age is just a practice run for the rug on the knees later on.
Last week I was
watching ‘the youth’ on holiday in Greece. Set me thinking about whether I’d
really like to be in my twenties again. All that glorious freedom – I was a bit
of a late starter on the career front – so I tended to weigh life up in
possibilities of travel rather than job satisfaction or progression. So if we
take a little snapshot of myself a couple of decades ago – au-pairing in
Liguria, teaching English in Spain, grape picking in Tuscany – with now - life
seeping away queuing for the car park at Morrisons’ and inspecting the dog’s
poo for worms – it’s not looking like a terribly hard contest.
Even worse when you
define yourself by the sunny day test. A brilliant summer morning, the type
that sends definite shadows across the garden, makes you think ‘ice lolly’ even
though you haven’t eaten a Fab since you were ten. Twenty years ago, circa 1990.
Bounce out of bed. Oooh goody. Sunshine. Off to the beach in a Ford Fiesta
crammed with friends, Silk Cut and the sound of Sinead O’Connor’s Nothing Compares 2 U. Wonder if the boy
with the Metallica T-shirt likes you or prefers your best friend. Try to hide
fat ankles. Talk twaddle about the importance of ‘principles’ over several
bottles of Piat d’Or or Sol beer and loll about leaning on your best friend,
wishing you were lolling on the Metallica T-shirt. Marriage, children, pah - just
some nebulous threat on a distant horizon. Watch the sun go down, then come up
again. Feel carefree, reckless and slightly hungover. Look fresh-faced with
bedhead hair.
Fast forward a
couple of decades. Sunny Saturday. Oh goody. Let’s get the barbecue cleaned.
Must plant that lobelia before it shrivels up in its Homebase pots. Let’s go
for a bike ride when you’ve finished cutting the lawn. Oh. Tyres flat. Why
doesn’t anyone put anything back when they’ve used it? Well, I definitely
didn’t have it last. Now you tell me
your homework project on sustainable development is in for Monday. I thought
you had six weeks? But this is the last week and you’ve only done the title
page? Forget the bike ride. Sit inside on a sunny day. Worry about lack of
Vitamin D. Drink moderate amount of wine, careful not to mix red and white,
definitely no spirits or beer. Wake up grouchy, early and very hungover.
Wrinkles cling around mouth like desperate climbers dangling from a cliff face.
Hair looks sparse and stands up in a good imitation of the wild woman from
Wookie.
But yet…that
freedom. Was it really all it was cracked up to be? I watched those bonafide
twenty-five-year-olds. A seething labyrinth of hormones, one-upmanship and
strategies to be eye-catching. The fitness instructor with his dreadlocks. The
surfer boys with their manes of blonde hair. The nannies with their sing-song
voices. That girl, yes, that one, serving in the restaurant, swishing and
a-swaying between the tables until everyone has taken notice. All those tiny
waists, dark tans, long legs, short shorts. Everyone jostling for position in
the gang, staking their claim, their niche in the hierarchy. Made me grateful
for fallen arches and chilblains.
Of course, I
envied them the traditional gifts of their age. Boobs that sit rather than hang.
Youthful skin, which has a stay-put beauty all of its own. Stomachs that don’t
waterfall over the bikini bottoms. I wanted to climb up onto the bar and say,
‘Stop worrying about how you look, this is your moment, you’ll never look
better than this. The right person doesn’t care that you have cellulite or your
front tooth is a bit wonky.’ But clearly, that would just be wild woman from
Wookie come alive and my children would cry and hide from me.
I’d love to have
the rhythm of youth that makes a Zumba class look cool and Latino rather than a
sack of King Edwards on the move. And I fear my moment for mastering the
mono-waterski in the teeny-weeny bikini has passed me by. But on the plus side,
I’m not battling away trying to find my place in the world. I might not know
who I am but I definitely know who I’m not. I don’t choose my friends because
they’re ‘in’. I’ve weeded out the mean-spirited and the disloyal. I’ll never
have to go to a night club again and pretend to enjoy myself. If I don’t get
invited to a party, I no longer see it as social death, the proof that my face
doesn’t fit, that my bum really is too big, that everyone was only pretending to like me - I simply assume
they were economising on wine. (They really don’t need to do that. I bring my
own.) Maybe I’m not free to disappear off for two months at a time – or even a
weekend without some careful planning – but at least there’s someone waiting
for me when I get home. Even if it’s only to ask me if there is any more
porridge/loo paper/Sellotape…
Wonderful commentary! I wouldn't go back to my 20s if you paid me. Such an anxiety-ridden time. I feel so much more together and appreciative of life in my 50s than I did back then in the '80s. xo
ReplyDeleteMe too. Trying to fit in is the antithesis of spontaneity and joy...even having a spot could send me into a decline, now I just think 'Who's looking at you?'!
ReplyDeleteKerry - this is sooo goood. An idea - will you submit it to Woman and HOme as a freelance article? You really should. :-)
ReplyDeleteHi Adrienne...you are too too kind! Funny you mention W&H - when I first started out in journalism at Essentials magazine, Sue James (now editor of W&H) was the one who gave me my first job.
ReplyDeleteIn my head I'm still 25 too. :) Loved this!
ReplyDeleteHi Jamie...thanks so much for commenting...so nice not to be writing into a big black hole wondering "Is anyone out there?"
ReplyDeleteHa ha love this, I totally feel younger than I am however I have to say I prefer my 30's as I am growing old now with my husband and children :)
ReplyDeleteThanks for sharing
www.pressiesbypebbles.com
Hi Sally - This has been my most popular post to date...think it really resonated!
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