You wake up to the shrill sound of your alarm.
Its noise cuts through your sleep like a knife through butter. You’ve got an actual alarm clock, a nice one too, but for some unknown reason you’re still using your phone’s. It’s 6am, it’s Monday and you can hear the rain against the window. It’s August, but it’s also Britain. You lay there in despair, the weekend is over and it’s time to get back onto the metaphorical treadmill of life for another 5 days. You try and remember the last time you called in sick and wonder… could I get away with it? Your conscience pulls at you and you realise that if you don’t go in today, you’re only going to end up having to do five days worth of work in the remaining four anyway.
Bleary eyed you pull yourself out of the warm comfort of bed. As you stand up, you groan and let out a quiet sigh. After all, you can’t get up or down anymore without some sort of sigh or moan. Your bones crack and your muscles ache in a way that they never used to. You curse. “Are these really the first signs of ageing? Already? I’m only in my 30’s!”
You load up the morning news as you try to bring yourself to life and just like every other day, it’s all bad. The rich are getting richer and the poor get poorer. Of course we all blame each other for it too: the poor are naive to the world and just plain lazy, they sit at home claiming benefits and moaning about foreigners stealing jobs. Whilst the rich sit in their city houses bought with money taken from honest people, in dodgy deals with big bonuses. They avoid taxes and buy up property to rent to the poor, for twice the price they’d pay on a mortgage of their own.
And that’s just the local news.
Elsewhere its guns, bombs, refugees and Kardashians.
You’ve not even had breakfast yet and you’re already ready to go back to bed.
And sadly, that’s life. We’ve become so desensitised to the state of the world that now we just accept it. But that’s all part of growing up. When you were a kid, none of this mattered. You didn’t care about petrol prices, interest rates or down payments. You just got up, went to school for what you thought was the longest day of your life (Seven hours max, with an hour and half of breaks) and you were still home in time for ‘Finders Keepers’.
Back then you had dreams and desires, you wanted to change the world and make a difference, but now it’s too late. Now it’s up to the next generation to sort it all out. I mean, we haven’t got the time to do it. That council tax bill isn’t going to pay itself.
There are days when all these thoughts fill me with dread and I hate the idea of getting old. I can feel my body changing. The weight is easier to put on and harder to lose. Hangovers now last days, not hours. Staying awake through an entire film is suddenly an achievement and you worry about absolutely everything — from climate change to Brexit. Grey hair, nose hair or no hair — it’s all a problem, along with that bill you still need to pay.
But this is the moment when you’ve gotta remind yourself that growing old isn’t to be feared.
It’s earned.
It means you’ve lived.
If my muscles ache in the mornings, it’s because I’ve used them. If it’s hard for me to run as fast or swim as far, well it’s because I’ve walked many miles and been on journeys others could only dream of. If my eyesight is fading its because I’ve seen beautiful beaches and snow capped peaks, I’ve looked into the eyes of beautiful women and seen wonders of the world. If I can’t sleep so well, it’s ok because I’ve spent nights asleep next to women who have loved me. Sure I’ve got a few grey hairs appearing here and there, but I’ve also lay under thousands of skies, on sunny days and starry nights. I look and feel this way because I’ve danced, drank, sung and sweat my way through a pretty good life… and it’s not over yet. Sure I might be a bit slower, tamer and moderated than I used to be, but I’ve lived and I’ve loved.
No… getting old ain’t bad.
Getting old?
That’s earned.
