Things I notice
As I get older and creakier…
We all wake up one day and think “Whoa. When did I stop being twenty?”
You notice hair where there didn’t used to be any, and no hair where there used to be some. Gray, where there used to be color.
Skin is looser and has lines.
There are aches and pains, and where you used to shake them off, now they persist.
You can lament it. You can cry over it. You can be upset about it.
But you can’t change it.
It happens to everyone.
You can only accept it, and live with it.
However, how you live with it, is a choice everyone has to make for themselves.
Grow old (dis)gracefully.
I’m not twenty anymore.
Or rather, my body isn’t twenty anymore. My mind is a different matter.
That doesn’t really get old. My reaction time isn’t what it used to be, but that’s about it. It hasn’t really grown up much.
My mind is still as good as ever. Maybe tempered by some life lessons, setbacks, losses; shaped by joys, love, education, experiences — but it hasn’t changed from being naughty, funny, sexy, crazy, outrageous, daring, rebellious…etc.
In my mind I can do anything. There are no limits, no boundaries.
I still make mistakes and learn from them.
It’ll probably never change.
What did change, was the way I let myself be dictated to. I don’t like being told what I should be, wear, eat, say, do, dare, or — worst of all — what I should stop.
“At your age, you really shouldn’t…”
Oh how I HATE that phrase.
At my age? What age would that be? After 40? 50? 60?
At what age, exactly, should I stop something? Stop making choices? Stop trying new things? Stop living, perhaps?
It’ll never happen.
Older and wiser? Maybe.
I know I don’t bounce as well as I used to.
Does that stop me from riding? No.
Does it mean I’ll hang on for dear life? No.
It does mean I’d rather get off, than fall off.
It does mean I have the experience now to recognize when I need to make that choice. Not because I’m afraid of falling off, but because I know if I do fall off, it’ll take that much longer to get back in the saddle.
And, hey, life is short.
So I get off and ride again tomorrow.
And not in 4 weeks, because I didn’t bounce.
Other people can go hang. Call me a frump, lazy, a slouch, I don’t care.
These days, I wear the comfortable clothes, the comfortable shoes, sit in the comfy chair, put my feet up, and have that extra bit of chocolate.
I’m comfortable with the way I am.
And believe me, I didn’t used to be. I have tons of hang-ups, tons of stuff I’m not happy with. But it’s all superficial.
These days, I’m okay with the extra pounds. I’m okay with wearing jogging pants, slouch socks, slippers and a ratty jumper. So what if I didn’t brush my hair today? The only ones around are my cats and my horses, and they don’t care about my hairdo — or lack of it.
Who cares if I go to feed my horses in my PJ’s? Who cares if I run out in wellies, a nightgown, and the hairy smelly horsey coat to get the mail?
I bet people who see me — if they see me — go “Look at that crazy woman” and yet secretly wish they could be comfortable. To stop worrying what “other people” think.
Okay. Maybe not all of them. But a fair percentage long to be comfy and “let it all hang out” and the rest of the world be damned.
We’re so conditioned that we need to be “Fabulous Fifties” or “Glamorous Grannies” that we rarely stop to think if we’re actually comfortable like that.
If that’s you, then that’s perfectly fine. Be who you want to be. Whether it’s glamorous, or grumpy. Or both.
Who said you can’t be a glamorous crazy cat lady?
(And if they did, screw them.)
Don’t get me wrong.
I like to dress up sometimes as well. I like looking my best when I can. I like a compliment as much as the next person.
But I’m not going to start putting on make up, blow drying my hair into some artful coiffure, make sure my pants are spotless and doll myself up just in case someone sees me. (I know there are people who’d never go out without looking their best, but that’s not me.)
I’ll end up with muck on my boots, horse snot on my sleeve, and hay in my hair anyway, so what’s the point?
First of all, I wouldn’t be comfortable. And by comfortable I don’t mean “nothing is pinching anywhere”, but the “I’m not anxious about how I look” kind of comfortable.
Second… If you don’t like me because of the way I dress / look… then go take a long walk off a short pier. There are no fucks given here.
Be you.
I’m me. You’re you.
But…are you?
Or are you who everyone else wants you to be?
So many people hold back their entire life, because it’s expected of them.
DARE TO BE YOU!
Why are you listening to people who tell you what you ought to be? Say? Do? How you ought to dress? Behave?
Be yourself.
Everyone else is already taken.Oscar Wilde
Stop being who everyone else wants you to be.
Instead, be who you want to be.
By the way…
I actually have an “iCAN”.
Into this can (it’s an old food tin, with a label I put on) goes a scrap of paper of something I either want to get or do, with an estimated / actual cost.
Could be an outrageously expensive new lens for my camera.
Could be skydiving. Wild Water Rafting. Learning to fly a helicopter.
Could be a holiday.
Doesn’t matter what it is. The only rule is, it has to be something fun.
At the end of the week, whatever is left in my wallet, goes into that can.
Could be 20 cents, could be 50 Euro. (I tend to get the same amount of cash out every week and try to stick to it.)
Any info on the goal in there goes into the can too. (If possible.)
But…
It’s my iCAN.
It’s not my iCAN’T.
Because… I bloody well CAN, and I WILL.
And so can you.
Whatever you want to do…
…ride it like you stole it.
