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I'm 40: the confusion starts here I'm 40: the confusion starts here
(2 days later)
'Milestone birthday? You can't be 50. You look amazing." I am 40 tomorrow. It's possible this was said in jest. But it didn't feel like it. For a split second, I did not know whether to be flattered (I look amazing?), insulted (I look 49?) or thrilled to have been handed the chance to pretend to be 10 years older for the rest of my life in order to seem uncannily youthful forevermore. I settled on insulted. But it was a close call. (If there is a byline picture on this article, by the way, you can be sure it was taken at least 17 years ago. It's a rule.)'Milestone birthday? You can't be 50. You look amazing." I am 40 tomorrow. It's possible this was said in jest. But it didn't feel like it. For a split second, I did not know whether to be flattered (I look amazing?), insulted (I look 49?) or thrilled to have been handed the chance to pretend to be 10 years older for the rest of my life in order to seem uncannily youthful forevermore. I settled on insulted. But it was a close call. (If there is a byline picture on this article, by the way, you can be sure it was taken at least 17 years ago. It's a rule.)
There is so much confusion about age. Is it OK to be old as long as you are seen to be pretending to be younger? Or do they have to think that you actually are young? Or does it, as most people say too loudly, really not matter at all any more? Someone else said last week: "Forty. That's impressive. You had kids really young." I had my first baby at 30. (He's nearly 10.) That is not a young age to have a baby. Or at least it never used to be.There is so much confusion about age. Is it OK to be old as long as you are seen to be pretending to be younger? Or do they have to think that you actually are young? Or does it, as most people say too loudly, really not matter at all any more? Someone else said last week: "Forty. That's impressive. You had kids really young." I had my first baby at 30. (He's nearly 10.) That is not a young age to have a baby. Or at least it never used to be.
Forty has been the new 30 since I was a child. Possibly since the pill was invented and we could start to ward off the one thing that ages us all above all else: becoming a parent. No one is supposed to dread being 40 any more. So why do I feel so old and want to hide under a pillow? Which has to be an anti-allergy one from the Innovations catalogue.Forty has been the new 30 since I was a child. Possibly since the pill was invented and we could start to ward off the one thing that ages us all above all else: becoming a parent. No one is supposed to dread being 40 any more. So why do I feel so old and want to hide under a pillow? Which has to be an anti-allergy one from the Innovations catalogue.
Possibly because I am supposed to feel vibrant and defiant. There's an enormous pressure to prove that you are not giving up because you're 40. That your life isn't over and that it's all still out there for the taking. Part of me wants to sit down and have a cup of tea and a nice rest. Part of me wants to go and sing If I Could Turn Back Time at karaoke while wearing a fishnet catsuit. And part of me wants to weep over the wasted, cherubic faces of twentysomethings and wipe my tears into their exquisite cheekbones while shouting: "IT IS WASTED ON YOU."Possibly because I am supposed to feel vibrant and defiant. There's an enormous pressure to prove that you are not giving up because you're 40. That your life isn't over and that it's all still out there for the taking. Part of me wants to sit down and have a cup of tea and a nice rest. Part of me wants to go and sing If I Could Turn Back Time at karaoke while wearing a fishnet catsuit. And part of me wants to weep over the wasted, cherubic faces of twentysomethings and wipe my tears into their exquisite cheekbones while shouting: "IT IS WASTED ON YOU."
As I exit the fourth decade and head properly towards death (happy birthday to me!), I am already sick of people telling me that it's the best thing ever. It feels less like a birthday and more like a groundhog day where every 24 hours you're expected to do something new to prove you're really, really not bothered at all about ageing. No, really not bothered in the slightest!As I exit the fourth decade and head properly towards death (happy birthday to me!), I am already sick of people telling me that it's the best thing ever. It feels less like a birthday and more like a groundhog day where every 24 hours you're expected to do something new to prove you're really, really not bothered at all about ageing. No, really not bothered in the slightest!
Why do we continue this pretence that you can get over no longer being young? Of course youth is best. It comes once. When you're in it, you don't know it. And, by the time you realise how much you want it, you can never get it back. That is the human condition. No amount of fishnet catsuits can change this. Trying to recapture hope is pointless and shaming.Why do we continue this pretence that you can get over no longer being young? Of course youth is best. It comes once. When you're in it, you don't know it. And, by the time you realise how much you want it, you can never get it back. That is the human condition. No amount of fishnet catsuits can change this. Trying to recapture hope is pointless and shaming.
But there has to be a middle ground for the newly middle-aged. No one wants to sit in a corner sucking on a Werther's Original, dribbling slightly, wearing a cardigan that smells of cupboard. But no one wants the exhaustion of pretending a) to be 18 and, worse, b) not to mind about not being 18. Forget the cult of youth. The cult of pretend-youth is far more powerful.But there has to be a middle ground for the newly middle-aged. No one wants to sit in a corner sucking on a Werther's Original, dribbling slightly, wearing a cardigan that smells of cupboard. But no one wants the exhaustion of pretending a) to be 18 and, worse, b) not to mind about not being 18. Forget the cult of youth. The cult of pretend-youth is far more powerful.
We live in a society that purports to glorify the young and the beautiful. But, in fact, it saves its best rewards not for those who are young and beautiful at all. The prizes go to those who dutifully perform a sort of drag act impersonation of youth using self-help and Botox, while announcing that they really don't care about ageing at all and that the number on their (falsified) birth certificate is soooo meaningless. (Dyeing your hair and having your moustache removed doesn't count by the way. That is upkeep, not denial.)We live in a society that purports to glorify the young and the beautiful. But, in fact, it saves its best rewards not for those who are young and beautiful at all. The prizes go to those who dutifully perform a sort of drag act impersonation of youth using self-help and Botox, while announcing that they really don't care about ageing at all and that the number on their (falsified) birth certificate is soooo meaningless. (Dyeing your hair and having your moustache removed doesn't count by the way. That is upkeep, not denial.)
I have tried to pretend it's meaningless. I have tried to focus on the fact that virtually everyone I know (and like and admire) has passed 40 and it does not seem to have harmed them or diminished them. But still it hits you like everything else bad in life. This is something that happens to other people, it should not happen to me. I was not meant to be 40. I was not meant to age. I was not meant to die. Surely there has been some mistake.I have tried to pretend it's meaningless. I have tried to focus on the fact that virtually everyone I know (and like and admire) has passed 40 and it does not seem to have harmed them or diminished them. But still it hits you like everything else bad in life. This is something that happens to other people, it should not happen to me. I was not meant to be 40. I was not meant to age. I was not meant to die. Surely there has been some mistake.
Victor Hugo called 40 "the old age of youth" and 50 "the youth of old age". He lived to 83. So it's all right for him. But here's the thing. How do I know this is the middle bit (which would be annoying but just about bearable) and not the bit near the end (stressful!)? If you could be sure it was the middle, you could relax. A bit. Statistically, as a woman, I'm not actually halfway until I get to 41. (The average age of death for a British woman is 82.3 years. For men, it's 78.2 years. Sorry about that.)Victor Hugo called 40 "the old age of youth" and 50 "the youth of old age". He lived to 83. So it's all right for him. But here's the thing. How do I know this is the middle bit (which would be annoying but just about bearable) and not the bit near the end (stressful!)? If you could be sure it was the middle, you could relax. A bit. Statistically, as a woman, I'm not actually halfway until I get to 41. (The average age of death for a British woman is 82.3 years. For men, it's 78.2 years. Sorry about that.)
Realistically, I will get through tomorrow by eating cake and focusing on the people I have known who didn't make it this far. A girl I knew very briefly as a student who took her own life because she couldn't bear how painful it is to be alive. A Russian friend who drank himself silly and then drank himself dead. A gentle and kind university friend who was killed in an accident. They will remind me for a few moments that this may be an annoying day. But at least it is a day.Realistically, I will get through tomorrow by eating cake and focusing on the people I have known who didn't make it this far. A girl I knew very briefly as a student who took her own life because she couldn't bear how painful it is to be alive. A Russian friend who drank himself silly and then drank himself dead. A gentle and kind university friend who was killed in an accident. They will remind me for a few moments that this may be an annoying day. But at least it is a day.
For added consolation, I went to see a Gypsy at a summer fair last week. She told me that I will live to 89 and die "peacefully in your sleep with all your marbles". This prediction cost £10. I considered it money well spent. But what if she's wrong? I know, I know. It's not possible she's wrong. She had a picture of the Beckhams outside her tent and has also done Barbara Windsor, Tom Jones and Christopher Biggins. I may be old. But I am not a fool.For added consolation, I went to see a Gypsy at a summer fair last week. She told me that I will live to 89 and die "peacefully in your sleep with all your marbles". This prediction cost £10. I considered it money well spent. But what if she's wrong? I know, I know. It's not possible she's wrong. She had a picture of the Beckhams outside her tent and has also done Barbara Windsor, Tom Jones and Christopher Biggins. I may be old. But I am not a fool.
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