I think I’m on the cusp of a mid-life crisis. This has worrying ramifications. Firstly, I’m only nearly-forty, which means my life expectancy is now not-quite-eighty. Without wanting to sound spoilt, I was rather hoping for more. Secondly, I’m concerned that if this mid-life crisis continues I will have to run a marathon, something I’ve always vowed I’ll do, but am not convinced I’ll manage. I’m more of a sprinter. Sharp fourteen-second bursts of high energy followed by 23 hours, fifty-nine minutes and 46 seconds of hard-core, chocolate-accompanied lethargy. Yep, sprinting I like. And skiing. Skiing’s okay too because the lifts do all the hard work, unless you’re one of those loonies who lash skis to their backpacks and WALK up the mountain, which I most certainly am not. Not yet, anyway, though who knows what idiocy I’ll undertake if this crisis takes hold? No, at the moment I very much like a ski-lift, preferably with a heated seat, and a Lion Bar in my pocket (avalanche supplies, my dad used to call them, gleefully reaching into his pocket on the first lift of the day). So why is this crisis looming, biting at my ankles, officially marking the end of my carefree youth (oh, carefree youth, why didn’t I love you more when you were here?). Well, yesterday I saw a young man, about 18, running into a pub in that loping way that young men can do. A flash of jealousy hit me. I wanted to be back in my teens and loping (sprinting?) into the pub to drink, laugh, and flirt, buzzing with the vibrancy of youth. Later, after my two younger daughters are tucked up and we are positioned, as usual, in our dents on the sofa, I happened to catch sight of my husband (a man I met in a pub at university when we were both young and impassioned, arguing and kissing like over-excitable Latino revolutionaries), sitting opposite me, slippers on, doing the fiendish Sudoku, and the mid-life crisis leapt out and hit me squarely around the chops.
‘Life as you know it is over it,’ the cackling beast screamed. ‘OVER I TELL YOU!’
‘Mr J,’ I said, through white-hot panic. ‘Shall we go to the pub?’
‘What?’ he replied, laying the paper on his knee and looking up. ‘But it’s past nine o’clock?!’
Then I felt faint as the crisis bore down on me. I sat and thought, because thinking, though perhaps not advised (many a problem can be made significantly worse with too much thinking), is what I tend to do in this type of situation. I need to start smoking again, I thought to myself. I’ve always wanted to pierce my nose. Would Rhianna-red hair and an asymmetrical fringe suit me?
‘I’m getting a tattoo,’ I announced. ‘And a piercing.’
Then my fourteen year old daughter looked up – her skin wrinkle-free, her hair long and lustrous, gravity something she only thinks of once a week in double Physics (not every day whilst scooping boobs into a bra made of reinforced steel) – and I saw the look on her face was one of pure horror. ‘A tattoo and a piercing? But…but…you hate pain.’ That was what she said, but her horrified look spoke a silent cry: ‘you’re TOO OLD! How will I show my face with an old, newly pierced mother.’ Her silent cry had a point, of course. Harrison Ford hit 60 and pierced his ear. He also drop-kicked his wife of over twenty years and married baby Calista Flockhart. He turned from super-cool Indiana, into OMG-have-you-seen-what-he’s-done Harrison. Nicky Haslam started dressing like a Sex Pistol. Women and men all over the place reach a certain age and start to Botox their foreheads into permanent expressions of youthful inexpression. Silicone gets pumped into spaniel-ear bosoms, six packs are sculpted out of flabby male stomachs. Harley Davidsons are bought. Pool boys are hired.
I closed my eyes and imagined myself without the man sitting opposite me, the man with the slippers and the fiendish Sudoku. I imagined (now whisper this) myself with a younger version: stomach hard as wood, shiny eyes, the energy of, well, of a young man, and I wondered what it might be like to drink cocktails ’til dawn, go to gigs, go clubbing, and do the other four times a night. Then all of a sudden I came over all exhausted. Thoughts of partying left my head to be replaced by how lovely it feels to climb into bed at the end of each day. How, sometimes, just before I go to sleep, I get a little rush of pleasure at the thought of my morning cup of tea. How comfortable it is beside my husband in my sofa-dent, watching television, with a cat on my lap. Then I thought about the marathon, and with that the mid-life crisis finally ebbed away, at least for the time being. A marathon? No way am I ready for that…
(By the way if you fancy following this blog, there’s a ‘Follow’ button with a dinky yellow flower in the bottom right of your screen. It’s not the easiest to see, so I thought I’d point it out!! Ax)
Do you really have enough time left to worry about your age? Think about it. Cathy x
I was more worried about the man in the slippers with his fiendish Sudoku than age in this post, however, if I AM on the brink of a mid-life crisis then that gives me nearly forty years to worry about all sorts of things. I’m sure I’ve got the odd hour spare to worry about age!!
I usually loathe my sleepless nights but this morning I’ve been lying in my bed being highly entertained by this fantastic blog of yours. I absolutely loved reading this as I do all your work. I don’t believe there is anything wrong with still craving more, trying to recapture our wild outlandish and youthful ways. Truth is we are still those people we just prefer different things now. Mid life crisis? Oooof tell me about it, I’ll write about mine one day. I’m 44 in a couple of weeks
If you ever fancy another one bags me Thelma OKay? You can have Brad Pitt coz I’ve never fancied him that much ! X
I will be your Thelma ANY day. And, yes, if you could leave Brad and his abs of steel and his hairdryer-gun for me I’d me most delighted. I’m so glad you enjoyed the blog, especially that it entertained you in the early hours. Mr J suffers from tricky sleep so I know how awful it can be!! Thanks for your lovely comment. x
AJ as usual a very pertinent blog, one very close to my unfortunately almost 40 self. I would write more, but need to crack on with the work, to try and make a name for myself before I am a has-been in the world of design. If I am not one already…. See you in Latinos. It’s still there right?!
You and me together with the nearly-40 thing then. This calls for only one thing – drinks in Henley. Name the date and the first Mojito’s on me!!! And no, Latinos is no longer, I believe. I think it was a lap dancing bar and now it’s a gym…neither of which I feel up to at the moment. x
Loving all your clever and entertaining blogs thus far Amanda! This one really resonates though… although I’ve since hit the next decade on (from your nearly 40 one…)I woke up, age 43, with the sudden thought, “Is this all there is????”…also started noticing HOT 25-35 aged men (as I swear they never existed before)…this fixation lasted for about a year I have to say… I hear from many reports from various other friends, this is ‘totally normal’…. much less sweaty than running a marathon too! Axxx
LOVE IT!!! Yes, oggling young men sounds a FAR better use of time than killing myself running. (Don’t tell the man in the slippers though…)
What a fabulous post – totally loved it and it rang so true – I am right there with you all the way!
Thank you and very glad I’m not alone!! And if you get the urge to drink cocktails ’til dawn, remember to give me a call. I’ll be your wingman! Thanks again.
I’m on the brink of 40 too, and enjoyed this v much as am feeling similar stuff (except about the skiing and marathon-running). We are all fantastic 40-somethings! I am determined to celebrate my mid-life attainment and will be writing about it soon too. x
I think it’s such a great time of life in so many ways, but also a real crossing point from youth to maturity. I’m sure once the adjustment has been made we can enjoy the security and satisfaction of all the things thus far achieved, not to mention of course those things to come. Bring it on!! Look forward to reading your thoughts on it – do send me the link!
I found myself looking at leather jackets the other day. That was a sad moment for me.
Fancy going to the pub?
Yes, let’s go to the pub. But I don’t want to be with an old giffer, so you’d better go back and buy that leather jacket pronto. x
Manda, have just read through all your blogs from the start, I LOVE how you write about everything. I too loved flowers in the attic but had forgotten all about it…. How does that happen? Neil loves reading the tiger who came to tea to the kids, we are going to the Hexagon to see it, have just enlightened him with the correct version.! Can’t wait to buy your book and get you to sign it. Px
Thank you for your gorgeous message, P. Though the marathon I was talking about was 26 miles in a pair of running shoes, not 30 blog posts all in a row. I’m impressed by your stamina. Mind you four kids under five should’ve given me a clue, right?! Enjoy the Hexagon – do let me know if they focus on the Stay At Home Mum theme!! xx
Ha! I was in Latinos on our staff night out when I lived in Wallingford! Awful place.
I am also *whispers* 39 and have considered the marathon, but with the self-conviction that I’ll never do it. Sprinting is best, especially when it’s down to the corner shop to get another pinot grigio…..
We could half the sprint distance to the Pinot and do a relay? (I’m so close to Wallingford…shame you moved. I would have got that Pinot race in the diary.)
just wait…we have reached the age where, when invited to the 40th birthday parties of our CHILDRENS’ friends we opt for the “child-friendly” session with cake and games between 2-5pm; politely declining the evening event from 8pm…oh DEAR…
Love it!! That made me laugh. To be honest I think the 2-5pm slot with kids and kids food sounds right up my street as well! Thanks for making me smile. x
If Mr J is going to spend the evening doing Sudoku on the settee, have you given some serious thought as to what tattoo you are going to get? Maybe get a Sudoku grid tattooed – but where to put the tattoo……….
That’s hilarious!!! I love the thought of tempting off his sofa-dent with a saucy Sudoke grid on my person. (I have to say, that is one sentence I never thought I’d write!).