Age does not define us. This is true, and like most simple truths lies like a smiling trapdoor over something a lot more complicated. July is the month of my birthday (Why thank you!) so it seems natural to say something about that silent assassin, age.
Fortunately I am now past the time when the number (57 since you asked so politely) seems especially important.
And for all its sinister connotations this unavoidable creak of time brings with it a plenitude of blessings to balance its curse.
I find that like an ageing snake I have cast off skin after skin. Leaving behind some scars alongside some of the lustre of youth. Each shedding revealing something old-new.
Supposedly wisdom comes with age. Perhaps I am wiser in at least having at last learnt that battering one's head off the brick wall of life simply results in a headache. The wall gives not a hoot.
A current favourite poem of my dear mother's (No, a gentleman does not ask) is Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night, by Dylan Thomas. She despises ageing and certainly does a lot of raging. (Yes, she does suffer from terrible headaches.)
My favourite poem for some time has been The Love Song For J Arthur Prufrock by T.S. Eliot. The lines
"I grow old...I grow old...
I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled"
welcome me like a well worn sofa that has been moulded to fit my behind perfectly.
I know that Eliot is best known for another poem, but personally I find this one says something lovely about ageing with wisdom, whilst keeping an edge of wry humour.
Perhaps there is also something disarmingly honest in the poem’s voice. It might just be me, but I find honesty important in how a poem sits with me (Fair point – honesty matters a lot in all aspects of life). And this seems at odds with our society currently. It feels like some sort of culture-crime to appear old. We swim in a "sea" of products allegedly anti-ageing. As if that were actually possible. We’ve gone in the space of two generations from seeing ageing as entirely normal to something that should be battled with. Oh dear. Here comes that brick wall again.
So yes, I am another year older, and so is everyone else. Time will just keep rolling on by and I will do my best to float as lightly as I can on the curve. I am not really sure what else there is to do. Unless you’re fond of headaches.
And sure, if you see me, you may notice that the bottoms of my trousers are rolled. Roll on 58!
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