At forty apparently.
I’ve heard this expression a number of times over the last 24 hours. My birthday yesterday has, of course, provoked, a number of responses from my friends which have ranged from “you’re only as old as the woman you feel” to “you poor old bugger”. I’m not sure in what light either of these apply to my wife.
By far though the most common has been “life begins at forty” or even (in-line with current fashion) “forty is the new twenty”.
Well, I certainly hope not as my twenties were absolutely crap. However this had little to do with my age and more to do with my wallflower attitude to life. I’m pleased to say I’m a bit more assertive and “go-getting” these days. So who knows? Maybe life begins will prove to be rather apt after all?
I certainly don’t feel any different. By different I, of course, mean decrepit and dysfunctional.
I don’t suddenly feel the full horrid weight of my forty years pressing down on me like a huge millstone of wasted opportunity and misdemeanour. My legs are not suddenly bowed with the sheer tonnage of my life up to his point.
No more than is normal for a full time working dad of two writing a novel in his spare time anyway.
But then it hasn’t really sunk in.
It’s just a number at the moment. I keep having to tell myself that it applies to me because mentally it’s just not sticking.
It took me a whole year to get used to being 39 so I doubt that 40 will be any different.
I’ll admit I’ve had a passing thought that maybe, just maybe it’s now time for me to grow up a bit and start acting more sensibly.
But then my next thought was yah-boo sucks to that.
I think being 40 is going to be a cinch.