The Age of Boundless Possibilities
My grandmother, Eleanor, became a granny at fortyfour, and in that instant she slipped into the shape the world had carved for her. She never shuffled about in a daisypatterned shawl with a cane, and even in her later years she kept a tidy, dignified air. I still recall the day we stitched a bright scarlet dress for a doll together. I was thrilled and asked, Do you fancy such a dress? She chuckled and replied, What do you think? Im a granny now That phraseIm a grannyechoed through everything. When her first grandchild arrived, she slipped straight into the box society had drawn, and lived there for the rest of her days, just as every woman in her circle seemed to do.
I often hear the current overforties mutter that life has thrown everything at them, that living in an age of perpetual change is a hard grind. Yet it is precisely that generation which has shattered the old frames, the solid notions of what age should look like. Imagine for a moment calling a woman just over forty a granny. She isnt even a woman yet; shes still a lovely lass. Yes, she may not be a springfresh rose, but shes still a girl, because her mind is tuned to youth, not the other way round.
In todays world you can only guess a womans age, and sometimes you have to read it from the surrounding clues. I often sip coffee in a tiny café on a cobbled lane in Bath. The barista, a petite, graceful girl named Blythe, already knows my order, and we trade a few light words. She looks like a fresh graduate from a university a week ago. One afternoon I walk in and see a towering, broadshouldered fellow leaning over the counter, nearly two metres tall. I wonder, could this be her boyfriend? She seems a thumbnail to him. He leans down, plants a kiss on her cheek, and the scene feels like a living postcard. Then, in a low rumble, she asks, Love, could you spare a couple of hundred pounds? If someone had told me she was his daughter, the surprise would have been less startling
The most wonderful thing about modern women is that they can pick any image, any age that feels comfortable. One day she may wear braids and a bikinitattoo, the next day Louboutins and a plunging neckline, then sneakers with ripped jeans, then lemonyellow blouses, skinny skirts and a jaunty hatevery season a new costume. Red dresses, mini or with a daring zipper that runs the length of the back, are all fair game, and no one rolls their eyes or shrugs. Even if someone does, she simply does not care.
There is also that old saying, If youth only knew, if age only could It has vanished. The middleaged cohort has bleached it away like a stain on a crisp white tablecloth. We now know everything, yet we are still able to act. This extraordinary generation drifts without anchoring at any shoreoldtimers push it away with fear, the young watch it with suspicion. The ship sails on its own, thrilled by the thrill of its own adventures.
And here is the newest revelation I have stumbled upon, which I share gladly: age does not limit possibilities; it expands them. We no longer have to search for ourselves; we have already found each other, and now we hone our crafts or try fresh techniques in the pursuits that bring us joy. We no longer mingle with everyone and everything; our task now is to keep close the souls that beat in rhythm with ours. We can afford the luxury of pleasant companionship, not the mere necessity of past social obligations. In love, in intimacy, we chase quality, having long understood that quantity can never replace it, and we grant youth a hundred points ahead.
We do not rush our children to grow faster, because we have seen how quickly that happens. We strive to savor their childhood, filling it generously with what we missed ourselves. We have long known that no amount of moneypounds or pencecan purchase happiness, health, or loyalty. We also understand that the road we walk toward a goal often matters more than the goal itself. Those who cannot rejoice in the process will rarely be delighted by the result. We have proven everything, learned from our own errors, felt how swiftly time flies. The canvas of life is already sketched; now is the moment to adorn it with tiny details and elegant strokes that turn a painter into a master and his canvas into a masterpiece.
When this finally settles in, you realise that the present moment holds limitless potential. You can learn to dance, to sing, to play the harp, to study languages, to dive with a regulator, to ride a horse, to ski or rollerblade. You can blow glass ornaments, drive a car, paint Christmas baubles, paddle a kayak, lay mosaic tiles, keep bees, colour a playground, mould pottery, stitch with beads or silk, bake delightful scones, ferment cabbage, or roll homemade pasta. You can travel and see with your own eyes what you have only heard about. You can adopt a Labrador, take in a third cat, shoot a short film, perform on stage, move to a cottage in the Cotswolds, or finally start the hobby you have postponed for years. You can plunge into a new romance, welcome another child, or simply wander alone along a mistshrouded park path, sipping hot chocolate or a mug of Earl Grey with lemon balm, savoring each sip as if it were the taste of autumn, of life itself
Now we understand that time is not infinite, and that makes us cherish the age of boundless possibilities even more.
