Who’s in charge here?

I have decided that because this year has been so shitty, I am not going to count my next birthday.  What does it matter anyway how old I am.  Not that everybody agrees. Apparently it matters  quite a lot  –  we  over 60’s are  stuck in COVID world and  are continually referred to as the ‘elderly’ and the ‘vulnerable’.   Bloody cheek. This labeling isn’t helping my mental health.

Interesting it was only last year that The  Office for National Statistics said although 65 has traditionally been seen as the start of old age, 70 could be seen as the “new 65”. And that’s they said  is because  many people who reach this milestone birthday can still expect to live another 15 years. If that’s the case then 60 is just middle age.  

Anyway, come December I am going to be 60 again. I didn’t have a 60th birthday as I was stuck in a  Berlin ICU hospital  watching over  one of my children who had fallen off a balcony on his head and trying to get  nurses to understand my broken German. Really what kind of language puts adjective verbs and almost everything else at the end of a sentence. The hospitals and doctors were brilliant  which is more than I can say for the bedside manner of some of the nurses. I was told by my German girlfriend not to take it personally it is a cultural thing.

I didn’t particularly mind missing my 60th as I have never been one for big parties.  It did however take me a while to accept 60   as I have been lying about my age since I turned 40 much to the annoyance of my younger cousins  who complain  that they have now overtaken me.

Of course, I wouldn’t have  lied if we didn’t live in such an ageist society.  When I left the BBC at the age of 50 I was the oldest by at least 15 years of my team. For me not being entirely truthful was about avoiding being judged –  and yes that does happen.  Fortunately, I look good and I know I could easily pass for someone in their mid-fifties. So why wouldn’t  I?

At the weekend the clocks went back  – so  if they – whoever they are can fiddle with the time  then so can I. “When you don’t take charge of time you become father time’s bitch,” not sure who said that and its a bit sexist but well, I ain’t  nobody’s bitch. 

Taking Charge High Resolution Stock Photography and Images - Alamy

Einstein determined that time is relative –in other words, the rate at which time passes depends on your frame of reference. Admittedly right now  COVID  is skew-whiffing  (maybe I have just made this word up I am well known for my malapropisms) time because  despite doing very little time seems to have sped up considerably.  

I still remember as a child waiting impatiently for the birthdays, holidays or  Wishing Day to come round. Yes Wishing Day – you mean you didn’t have a Wishing Day?  Ours was the middle of September.  We would sit on the rocking chair in the lounge and make a wish which would then magically turn up in the oven. Obviously not on.  And it really did feel like magic. My mother would have spent weeks  trying to find out what our wish would be.  One-year Brian and I  suspected that maybe there weren’t any magic fairies, so I decided to test the magic. I wished for a dollies cradle which I was sure my mother would never have guessed.   And when  I ran to the oven – there it was a beautiful little lace trimmed dollies cradle.  Well my maternal  grandpa was a magician!

So,  I am not working, I have no ties, I have nobody telling me what to do, and if  my time is relative to my life then I am going to be the boss.  I guess it’s about a mindset. I  know because I can  waste entire afternoons.  

Now I just need to walk the walk rather than talk the talk.

Walk the talk – Karolinska Institutet Career Blog

“Let’s be careful out there”

Author: ladyserendipidy

Journalist, event planner, mother, animal lover, not very good bridge or scrabble player, hopeless housekeeper, ex social worker, radio producer, tv executive, hater of almost all insects especially the eight legged ones. And if I am ever allowed out of my house, intrepid traveler.

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