A reader of mine made a comment along the ‘Old as the woman you feel’ lines yesterday – and this has made me think!
In sixteen months and four days’ time, I shall turn SIXTY! Amazing, eh? Does it worry or frighten me, though?
Only in the sense that, statistically, I am closer to the sands of my life running out through time’s funnel – and I am passionate about being alive.
But sixty as an age worries me not – because I, too, am as old as the woman I feel – and I am regularly having hands-on experiences with a female far younger than sixty! (Well, I am still a mere infant of fifty-eight!)
Don’t worry: I am not bonking a Cheerleader or anything sordid of that variety…
No. I have long felt more youthful than my actual years would suggest – and, forty years on from starting at Aberystwyth University, think I may have reached my late teens or early twenties!
A new chapter of my life is about to start. It would be very strange, though not entirely unexpected, if I were to find myself physically moving on October 3rd (the forty year anniversary of that first wild and wonderful train journey over the Cors Fochno marshes near Borth, to the university town I fell in love with at first sight):
So, going back to the title, the young woman I feel is, of course, myself! Physically, my body has, naturally, aged over the intervening four decades – but it still has the same familiar dips and hollows, nooks and crannies, high peaks, Mediterranean heat zones and more temperate areas!
It remains, in a word, the same body I have touched and been intimate with for fifty-eight years. It shares secrets with the two year old, five year old, fifteen and thirty year old me. It responds in ways no other human being could possibly understand or predict. I know it better than the best lover ever has – and it has, thus far, outlived all sexual relationships and love affairs.
In terms of the way I look, I have been blessed (through my mother’s side) with a youthful appearance – and, having an adventurous approach to hair colouring, have remained an unnatural red-head for thirty-plus years!
I am not daft: I know that no one would mistake me for a teenager these days – but many people think I look younger than I actually am!
So. Sixty? Bring it on! I shall continue to wear brightly patterned DMs, swear like a Navvy, write outrageously graphic pieces about sex and be turned on to, and by, life!
Truly, we are ALL as old as the woman, or man, we feel – and I am not yet caressing the Crone, though I am mindful and respectful of her magical presence in my being.
You can see, in this image (another of the five I took a few days ago), that my face is no longer teen-smooth, and that my skin is not as tight and springy as it was. But I reckon I still look younger than my years – if only just!
I think age is largely an attitude of mind – though obviously our bodies do wear down, and eventually out, at the purely physical level – and, if we think we should inhabit the conventional characteristics of a certain age, we probably will; whereas, if we remain fluid and live an ageless life in our bodies, we are likely to remain young for longer, perhaps (in some ways) forever!