Being Fifty Something
Notes from the Margins
Being 50 something is crazy.
Your hormones are wild, your body is in disagreement with movement. Your thermostat is broken and sleep has now ghosted you.
Forgetting everything, including your words. Your favourite foods are now trying to kill you. A daily routine of supplements A B and through to X Y Z.
The part of you that used to care what people thought of you has finally got tired of this shit and has left the building.
In my 20s I put on makeup and chose a decent outfit just to go to the local shop. Couldn’t be looking a mess. Had to be cool.
Now? Don't care pants (IYNYK). Crocs. Hair doing dishevelled. My resting bitch face ever vigilant. No fucks left to give.
I mean, don't get me wrong this isn't an easy ride by any means. It’s more of a hold tight by the seat of your pants kind of ride!
Yet, somehow, you’re more likely than ever to try new things. Not because you feel brave (hello anxiety), or because you now know what you’re doing (nope still don't).
This is the age where I took up cycling, lifting, camping. Falling off things (it hurts more), getting back on. Jumping into a pit at a Pendulum gig (best time).
Becoming the person my younger self would have been too self conscious to be.
But there’s something cool about reaching the age where your body is causing chaos, your hormones are playing away, yet you’re less afraid of looking ridiculous than you’ve been before.
