It will probably come as no surprise that my recent spate of gallivanting has raised a few eyebrows and there are, of course, mutterings that I am obviously going through some sort of mid-life crisis. I had, in fact, thought this myself but as the pitying looks and concerned advice seemed to indicate that this was something to be worried about and dealt with sensibly, I began to ponder more deeply on the whole issue.
According to Wikipedia, mid life crisis occurs between forty and sixty as the realisation starts to dawn that you are in fact going to drop dead one day and that the number of years left for enjoying yourself has suddenly dwindled quite significantly. So some awakened individuals start to say, hang on a minute, I have dedicated the last twenty years to bringing up my lovely kids and husband, I may not have another twenty years, I’m still fit and able so lets party! Lets write a list of all those things I’ve wanted to do but never had the time, lets stay up all night in Ibiza, lets play music loud and sing in the car even though its just sooo embarrassing, lets have a few drinks on a school night and stop picking boxer shorts up off the bathroom floor. Lets not care if I forget to put the bin out because I was too tired from watching the sun rise and lets start saying yes again to new adventures rather than no because its too much effort.
And what, may I ask, is wrong with that?
The definitions of the word Crisis are as follows: A time of intense difficulty or danger, a time when a difficult or important decision has to be made or the turning point of a disease when an important change takes place indicating either recovery or death. I particularly like this last definition, for my current conclusion is that the term should actually be applied to those NOT going through a mid life crisis, as the person supposedly going through the crisis, is actually having a whale of a time and enjoying a complete and full recovery from the relentless uphill battle of child rearing, running down the other side towards freedom with complete and utter abandon.
The real crisis, in my opinion, lies in the fact that those who are the most critical are usually the ones who are the most afraid, shuffling slowly but surely into their twilight years opting to go out with a whimper rather than a whoop.
So please don’t worry about me darlin’ I’ll take the crisis any day
For anyone who has ordered clothes on line, the inevitable barrage of emails offering incentives to buy are now just part of modern life. At the moment, however, they are slowly pushing me over the edge. Take, for example, this mornings offerings. “The Secrets of Summer Layering…….for chic summer days” “Things are hotting up for summer….are you ready?” or “Your sunny day essentials”. I’m sure if my mailbox could laugh it would probably have wet itself as it offered me a range of layering options from vests, to t shirts, through to little summer dresses, accessories and scarves that would, of course, see me effortlessly through from the beach to the cocktail bar. Perfect!
Well it would be, if Scotland hadnt morphed into Alaska. Don’t get me wrong, the sun has come out a few times but any time it ,makes a welcome appearance, any warmth is quickly dissipated by the biting, freezing gale that seems to be on a permanent setting from somewhere in the North. It actually snowed on the hills today. Snow! It’s bloody June.
So, I’ve done what any sensible girl should do in this situation and booked another holiday to Ibiza. Not until September, but at least it gives me something to look forward to if the sun doesn’t decide to show up in the Highlands, the temperature doesn’t manage to drag itself above 12 degrees C. and my chic, floaty summer layers remain shivering sadly in the wardrobe.
And if the sun does come out, then hopefully I’ll be able to return my order of the above.
In my last post from Ibiza I forget to mention that we did not, in fact, travel back alone for in our custody was a little friend who has now come to represent something significant. Let me introduce Dylan.
Dylan, (not quite sure how he got his name), in his physical state is nothing more than a piece of dried lime peel but he has eyes and a mouth and of course a name and because he has a name he has a personality and to be honest, we have all become a little bit attached and because we are a little bit attached, we are all becoming increasingly concerned for his well being. You see Dylan is homesick, pining for the sun, his maker and the place of his birth and basically he needs to be taken home and as Amelia was very cleverly given custody of poor little Dylan, some difficult decisions now have to be made.
The upside, if there is one, to getting older is wisdom, the type of wisdom that comes from experience and if used sensibly, can help us to point ourselves and sometimes others in the right direction. It’s not easy to quantify, often it’s just a gut feeling, a feeling that something just is the right thing to do.. At the beginning of this blog, I said that life is short and sometimes when we are suddenly given choices to make that we weren’t expecting, it’s easy to take the safe option even when you have youth well and truly on your side. What we have to remember, however, is if the safe option doesn’t actually make your soul happy, then it really isn’t the safe option at all.