Last Wednesday, January 13, was my birthday. Just a few days before that, on the weekend, this picture was taken. How old am I?…
We learn pretty early in life to fear time. Enjoy your childhood, it doesn’t last. Party hard and experiment a lot during your teens – it’s the only time in your life you really get to have fun. Decide everything in your twenties or disaster will crash down on you forever. You’re on your thirties? Prepare: decline is about to begin. Forties? Fifties?…You’re not fresh anymore. Or beautiful. Or allowed to take any risks. If you dare do or be any of that you’re ridiculous and unwilling to age. And… well… any age after that you’re simply… old.
We’ve all heard those things. And I believe we all know, deep down, it’s just a big fat lie. It just doesn’t add up when we look around – or in the mirror.
I have been all ages in all ages. I’ve felt old and unattractive. Young and beautiful. Brilliant and stupid. Sick and healthy. Tired and unstoppable. And it never happened to me in any linearity of any kind.
It’s not just that people age in different paces in comparison with each other, you age differently from yourself depending on what period you are and how you’re feeling. And believe me, it shows! People see it. Cameras capture it.
January 13 was my birthday. Forty-four years ago I came out of my mother’s womb. I have no idea how old I am right now.