15 March 2024
Dear Diary,
My dear nan, Margaret, only became a grandmother when she was fortyfour. In that very instant she seemed to settle into the role society all but handed her on a silver platter. She never shuffled about in a floral bonnet with a walking stick; even in her later years she kept a neat appearance and a quiet dignity. I can still recall the afternoon we stitched a bright scarlet dress for a little wooden doll together. I was thrilled and asked her if shed ever want such a dress herself. She chuckled and said, What am I, a granny in a frock? That I’m a granny became her mantra. As soon as the first grandchild arrived, she slipped into the expectations drawn by neighbours and the oldfashioned ideas of what a grandmother ought to be, and she lived within those bounds for the rest of her days, just as most women of her circle did.
These days I hear the overforties crowd complaining that life has thrown them every possible curveball and that its a nightmare to live in a world of perpetual change. Yet it is precisely that generation which has shattered the old moulds, the rigid notions of age. Imagine, for a moment, calling a woman barely over forty a granny. Shes hardly even a woman in the eyes of someshes still a pretty young lady. Yes, perhaps not in the spring of her teens, but still a lady, because her mindset is tuned to youth rather than to the idea of growing old.
In the modern hustle, a womans age can only be guessed, sometimes hard to pin down without the usual clues. I often pop into a tiny café on Camden Street where the barista, Emily, already knows I take my coffee with a splash of oat milk and a dash of cinnamon. We swap a few jokes each time. Shes petite, graceful, the sort of girl who might have just finished university. The other day a towering blokealmost two metres tall, broadshoulderedslid in beside her. I wondered if he was her boyfriend; after all, she looks like a reallife Thumbelina. He leaned over the counter, kissed her cheek, and then asked, Mum, could you lend me a couple of hundred pounds? If I had been told he was her son, I would have raised an eyebrow, but not been all that shocked.
Whats brilliant about todays woman is that she can dictate how she wishes to present herself, which image and age feels most comfortable. She may flaunt braids and a bikiniarea tattoo, or strut in Louboutins and a deepV dress, or rock trainers and ripped jeans, or sport lemonyellow blouses, narrow skirts and jaunty hats for each season. Red dresses, mini or with a daring zip running the length of the back, are all fair gameno one will roll their eyes or shrug it off. If anyone does, she simply doesnt give a toss.
Theres also that old saying, If youth only knew, if age only could Its dead now. The middleaged cohort has washed it away like bleach on a pristine tablecloth. We all know what we want, and we still have the vigor to chase it. This generation drifts between the wary old guard who push us aside and the younger lot who watch us with suspicion. The ship sails on its own, thrilled by the adventures it encounters.
The biggest realisation Ive had of late is that age does not limit possibilities; it expands them. We no longer need to search for ourselves; weve already found who we are, and now we hone our craft or try new techniques in whatever brings us joy. We no longer feel obliged to mingle with everyone who crosses our path; our priority is to keep close those whose hearts beat in time with ours. We can afford the luxury of pleasant company rather than the necessity of mere interaction. In love and intimacy we now value quality, understanding that quantity can never replace it, and we grant our younger selves a hundred points extra on the scoreboard.
We no longer rush our children to grow up faster, having learned how quickly they do so on their own. We savor their childhood, filling it with the things we missed out on. Weve long accepted that money cant buy happiness, health, or loyalty, and we know the road to a goal often matters more than the goal itself. Whoever cant relish the journey is unlikely to enjoy the destination. Weve proved it to ourselves, learned from our own mistakes, felt how swiftly time flies. The canvas of life is already sketched; now is the moment to add the fine details and graceful strokes that turn a painter into a master and a picture into a masterpiece.
When all this sinks in, you realise that right now your possibilities are boundless. You can learn to dance, sing, play the harp, pick up a new language, dive with scuba gear, ride a horse, ski or rollerblade. You can blow glass, drive a car, paint Christmas ornaments, paddle a kayak, assemble a mosaic, keep bees, decorate a playground, throw pottery, stitch beads or embroidery, bake delicious scones, ferment cabbage for coleslaw, or make fresh pasta. You can travel and see with your own eyes what youve only heard about. You can adopt a dog, take in a third cat, shoot your own short film or step on stage, move to the countryside, or finally start that longpostponed hobby. You can lose yourself in a new novel, bring another child into the world, or simply wander alone along a quiet park path, sipping chocolate coffee or lemon balm tea as the mist rolls in, savoring every sip of the autumn air.
The lesson I draw from all this is simple: time isnt infinite, and that makes the era of unlimited possibilities all the more precious. So Ill cherish each day, each new venture, and remember that age is merely a number, not a ceiling.
