Should I retire?

 

I never thought I’d ask myself that question. And now I am.

I get my state pension next year. Six years after I expected to get it, and I’m still angry with the Tories about this. But there’s nothing I can do about that. The Waspi T-shirt is in the bottom of a drawer, the movement split into factions, and no-one was listening anyway. 

Six years ago, I wouldn’t have contemplated giving up work. I felt fairly fit and healthy. Or as much as I’ve ever been, for someone who hated PE and lived mostly in their head.

It feels as if I’m being punished for that now. I’m being forced to live in my body, to be constantly aware of it. Every minute of the day, it lets me know it’s there, with constant micro-aggressions and the occasional kicking. 

Ways of listening: Glastonbury, new music and old age

Too Much Stuff

I turned on the television last weekend and Supergrass were on stage at Glastonbury singing “We are young”. I remembered buying that song when it came out, and how much that line – the cheek and celebration of it – meant to me. They were about 20 and I was in my 30s, but I felt young because of new-found freedom. 

I realised that Supergrass are older now than I was when I first heard that song. A lot older.

Turning 60 (part 2): Not giving up

I've been thinking a lot about the fact that I turn 60 this year, and what it means. If anything.

I can’t at the moment think of anything good about being 60. We don’t even get a bus pass where I live. In spite of that, I don’t think my 60th birthday will feel as bad as my 50th.

Turning 60 (part 1): WTF?

Is that all there is?

This year, I turn 60. How did that happen? 60 is the age my Nana and Grandad always were. It’s where you stop being middle aged and start getting called “older”. It’s totally incompatible with my self-image. (But so was 50, and I got used to that… sort of.)

Age Does Not Matter. Or does it?

Apparently it was International Day of Older Persons last Saturday. No-one told me. Maybe I’m not “older” enough.

In the UK, it coincided with a conference/festival thing put on by Age of No Retirement, aimed at challenging the stereotypes around ageing. It sparked off some interesting conversations.

The M word

When I was 50 I found out why couples who’ve been together a long time end up in separate beds. It’s not about falling out of love. It’s not about stopping having sex. It’s about night sweats.

No-one tells you about this stuff. You have to find out for yourself.

Jane Hill has written a great article in Standard Issue magazine (the mag’s worth checking out, by the way), called The Fleece of Despair. (Yeah, we’ve all got one.) And her cry of “Why had nobody told me?” is so true.

Life after life

It's that time when you get those 'books of the year' articles in the papers, and it's reminded me about  Kate Atkinson's Life after Life.

I'm a big fan of Kate Atkinson, but when I first read the book I wasn't sure what to make of it. Now, though, I'm starting to get it. It's stayed on my mind, and it's chimed with so much else I've been pondering on.

Book review: The stranger in the mirror

I remember the first time I heard a friend describe herself as 'a middle-aged woman'. I was shocked. She's a year younger than me.

A few years later, at the age of 50-something and officially menopausal, I can't deny it any more. So I could not resist buying a book called The Stranger in the Mirror: A Memoir of Middle Age.

The times they are a-changin’

In the year or so since I’ve been writing this blog, a few things have happened. I’ve turned 50*. I’ve kept it quiet. And I’ve started to get used to the idea.

Being in your fifties is definitely something that takes getting used to. But when you do, it’s not that bad. There are times when it feels like freedom.

The past decade has been interesting experience. There’s a lot of difference between being 40 and being 45. Being 45 did feel like a turning point. I wouldn’t quite say it’s all downhill from there but you start to realise you look different, and you know you creak more. After 45, you can’t pass as ‘young’ so easily. By the time you get to 50, that doesn’t seem to matter so much.

It’s a different sort of turning point, more mental than physical. And mostly positive. I read somewhere recently that 50 year olds are ‘complacent’. I hope I’m not. I might have the occasional ‘I did it my way’ moment but that’s down to relief as much as anything. I wouldn’t dare to be smug. I know this freedom won’t last; I know that the older you get, the more scope there is for bad stuff to happen. But I’m going to enjoy it while I can.

*I also turned 51.