Ageing: Are You Ready To Finish Your Slice?

Sometimes when I am pottering around my house I interview myself. Some people would call that 'talking to themselves' but it's far more formal than that. I pose myself questions, think about them, and then carefully articulate my answers.

If that makes me weird, well, wait till you hear about my faux cooking-show demonstrations.

The other day, during one of my probing interviews, I asked myself how I feel about ageing. After all, if I was a celebrity I would get asked that question all the time. Any female celebrity over the age of 30 is asked how she feels about getting older. Male celebrities aren't asked until they hit 50, but hey, I've interviewed myself about gender inequality many times and it's really not at all surprising.

So how do I feel about ageing?

cake: a metaphor

Well, I'm glad I asked.

At 46, the physical stuff doesn't bother me too much. Yes, I have wrinkles, blah blah blah. Yes, I have stretch marks, blah blah blah. But what do you expect at this age? Quite frankly, I get more upset about my occasional pimples than I do about the Visible Signs of Ageing.

And yes, I feel more Comfortable in Myself now than I ever did as a younger person. That all is true. I feel much more me than I did as a younger person. I am more confident, less concerned with what other people think. I know how I want to live my life, and am making that life happen.

But you know what I don't like?

I don't like the fact that time is running out. I don't like the fact that I am half way through my life. I feel keenly the sense that my years left on earth are limited. I know that we all have limited lifespans. I know that a twenty year old isn't going to live forever either. But I didn't feel my mortality at 20. I didn't even feel my mortality at 30. It hit me for the first time at the age of 45, and I suspect it will get stronger with each passing year.

I know it's not fair to feel this way. I have lived 46 years already, and many of them well. I am like a child with only half a slice of cake left, resenting the other kids who haven't started theirs yet. We all get our slice, I am halfway through mine, and I mustn't be greedy.

But I am. I want more cake. I like eating it and I don't want it to be over anytime soon. Or even in another 46 years.

I've interviewed myself, and now it's over to you. How do you feel about ageing? Will you ever be ready to finish your slice?