Growing old

 It's Friday. 

The end of another week.

And by my reckoning, given my date of birth, that's 2,776 weeks and 3 days since I was born.

Is that a lot?

It sure feels like it. 

In fact, only this week did I conjure up from the abyss of my reckoning the fact that I'm officially old.

Now we can debate the passing from middle age to old age but it's not the years that are important but, to me at least, a felt sense of belonging or should I say acceptance.

Yes, that's it: acceptance not resignation.

Did I think this time would come? Not really. As a wee kid, growing up in a small seaside town in Devon, England, all I ever wanted to do was escape. Get the hell out. I did. And I ran and ran until, well, I not so much found myself as I felt I'd put some hard yards between the old, underwhelmed me to someone slightly happier in their skin. But the trouble was I never quite escaped the need to do -- to always be on the road of 'doing'.

And (sadly) I worked so hard that my life disappeared by with hardly a mention. 

As I've written about ad nauseam, it was only when I suffered a little bleed on the brain that was I brought to my not very enlightened senses. For a while, I took my foot off the work pedal but it didn't take long before I was right back at it.

Why am I telling you this or any of it?

Because it's so easy to forget that in the middle of all that is us -- a fallible, sensitive human being. And if we're not careful we miss so much of our lives. That's not to say that we should ruminate ourselves into a solipsistic stupor but taking time out -- no, not to retreat -- to contemplate life and all that it offers is not only sensible but, I think, mandatory in these anthropocentric times. 

"Oh, please Summerhayes, not all of us can afford to lounge about doing sweet FA."

Perhaps you're right, but my overriding sense is that if we're not careful, even with all the planning in the world, our lives accelerate so fast that before we know it, it's over, and given what's at stake that would be a disappointment of the highest proportion. 

To be clear, I'm not exhorting any sort of change programme, JFDI daily routine or some molar-grinding presentation of be all you can be right up until the bitter end but I am asking or inviting a slightly different purview of growing into old age.

The truth is -- my truth -- I'm pleased to think of myself as old, if only because I'd like to think that with it comes a little more insight, a little more wisdom and patience for what lies ahead.

Have a wonderful day.

Take care,

Julian