The cursed gift of getting older

Whichever way you look at it, ageing isn't easy.

Image: Apo Whang-Od is the106 year old Filipino tattoo artist featured on the cover of Vogue.

Lately, at 45 years old and in the trenches of perimenopause (more on that in another post), I have been musing on getting older. It dawned on me the other day that (if I was lucky) I was already halfway through my life, and the thought shook me. Now that I am middle-aged, my life will likely dramatically change for myself and the loved ones around me.

We can all agree that ageing is a privilege and a gift. But life and humanity are complex beasts, so it’s also OK to admit that it’s both confronting and challenging.

I’ve realised that for me, it’s more than just the fact that the mirror doesn’t reflect how I feel inside. Most of all, I’m afraid of becoming decrepit.

My nana lived out her final years in the UK. Thus, my memories of her are from my early teens. She was a cheeky co-conspirator in my 13-year-old decision to dye my hair fire engine red. Her hair was bleached Monroe blonde (although she never admitted to bleaching it and stubbornly called it a ‘rinse’, which still amuses me - and reminds me, I need to ‘rinse’ my silver streaked regrowth!), and it was perfectly hot-rollered each day. She took so much pride in her appearance and wore jeans with a crease pressed into them and religiously oiled her olive skin. She always wore a swipe of lipstick. I’m sad that I didn’t see her in her final years, but there’s another part of me that (guiltily) feels a little relieved that my memories of her were from a time when she seemed so young and vibrant. I have no memory of her losing her mind to dementia, her mind entrenched in fear that everyone was out to get her. Instead, I have fond memories of the times when we’d go to the markets to fossick through second-hand goods and all the old men would tell her she must be my mother’s sister and in response, she’d toss her head in flirtatious delight and laugh as she’d say, ‘Ohhhh, thank you!’.

I read somewhere that elderly people feel ready and accepting when their time in human form reaches its final years, months and days. The writer said that was because ‘everything hurts and that eventually, you get so tired of hurting that approaching death feels somewhat welcome’.

I believe the the spirit lives eternally. Yet, the loss of those we love, as being visible and touchable in human form in our lives, is painful, to say the least.

My parents live far from me, and I have Google searched ‘average age length’ and made mental calculations of how many times I see them a year and how much time I have left to spend with them.

I think about how time passes quickly, and we barely notice because we are always running. But I have no idea how to slow down when parenting, life and work demands are already such a juggle.

Will it ever feel like we have had enough time with those we love?

While on the subject of ageing, let’s be honest, losing our youth is confrontational.

My hair is turning wiry and silver. In response to my saying, “I’ll just go grey,” a friend suggested, ‘Talcum powder your hair to see how you will look.’ I drenched my head in talc and realised I just looked even more tired and washed out. Although silver hair looks fabulous on the 50+ Instagram influencers, I am not ready.

That same friend messaged me recently. “I just found a grey hair in my eyebrows; if it starts going grey down below, I’m getting it lasered off.” I had to break the bad news to her, “You can’t laser grey hair.” Another friend sent me a video clip of her latest discovery: a random long hair growing from her neck. It seems my friends and I have reached the age and stage for hair follicles to start doing weird shit. Thank goodness we can laugh about it with each other. But I admit, I am not ready for weird hair shit.

My legs are suddenly checkered with scars and bruises that linger for weeks. Minor scratches that used to heal in days now permanently etch my skin. How does one get ready for cuts and bruises that don’t fade?

My memory is fading along with my eyesight. I am scared that if it weren’t for recording magical moments of my family on my phone, I wouldn’t recall them. I am not ready to feel precious memories drift away from me.

Of course the hardest thing about ageing is the regularity of the heart-wrenching news of loved ones and peers diagnosed with terrible things I don’t even like to type, but you know the one I mean.

I never feared death until I had children, but things are different now. So, I try to get 10,000 steps a day. I lift weights. I eat (or drink) my greens. And I drink alcohol sparingly and rarely, which is fortunate because after 40, hangovers require little booze, last days and throw me into a veritable existential crisis.

But if there’s one thing that irritates me about ageing, it’s people’s opinions on how women should do it. I’m old enough to make my own decisions. I saw a magazine the other day with Petra Baghurst on the cover; looking fabulous as always. And the magazine proudly proclaimed, ‘Botox and BootCamp free!’. Good for her. I can appreciate that not doing those things might seem rebellious, strong and inspiring for not giving in to societal pressure to maintain youthful appearances, but can we also enter the second half of our life doing whatever the fuck we want?

Botox… why not if it makes you feel better? If BootCamp is your way of finding connection and community - so be it. Life suddenly feels short once you hit your mid-40s. The time to do things that make you feel good is now.

There is no right or wrong way to navigate ageing; only the path feels right.

We often hear the phrase ‘ageing gracefully’, and yet nobody has managed to define what that is. Is that slathering on wrinkle creams and cosmetics - but not going so far as to opt for surgery and hair dye? Or is ageing gracefully accepting it all and not giving a single shit? I asked the internet, and the answer it spat out was:

According to the National Institute of Health, some of the most essential factors to ageing well are within your control. To prolong your youth, make an effort to maintain a target blood pressure, lower your cholesterol, maintain a healthy weight, exercise regularly, drink alcohol in moderation, and avoid smoking.

That sounds like ageing ‘healthily’, not necessarily ‘gracefully’, but I am all for it.

This is a woman that is ‘ageing gracefully’. Apparently. Note the soft, neutral colours and grey/blonde hair. She looks comfortable, active and happy and that’s what matters.

I prefer to think that I will age ‘disgracefully’. It sounds more ‘rock and roll’. Perhaps I’ll don leopard print and fushia instead of disappearing in a haze of ‘mushroom’ or ‘taupe’. And hopefully, while I am it, I will ‘let myself go’ a fair bit. I’ll kiss goodbye to the need to look perfect because there will be a better way to spend the second half of my life than in front of a mirror trying to paint over my flaws and fill in my lines. I’ll have my cake and eat a little of it too, because there is such a thing as soul food, and yes, my belly is softer, but, miraculously, it carried two children at the same time and I am not a 20-something fitness model. I’ll let go of some of the rules society has set for women about how we look, speak, act, dress and age. I’ll know that despite what the world tells us, a woman’s worth is not the number on the scales nor how fertile we are.

The thing about getting older is that you have to let parts of yourself go. So that’s my goal. I am working on letting go of the traits that plagued me (and many young women) in my youth: perfectionism, insecurity, doubt, and comparison (the thief of joy). Instead, as I approach my later years, I aim to surrender and enjoy the freedom, creativity, wisdom and peace that only letting go of that baggage can bring.