Opinion

Anita Robinson: As we grow older, life can be as full or as empty as we choose

The baby boomers generation were supposed to 'have it all'
The baby boomers generation were supposed to 'have it all' The baby boomers generation were supposed to 'have it all'

It’s eleven o’clock on a fine May morning. I’m sitting at my kitchen table with a large mug of coffee and the newspapers.

Sunshine on the blossoming cherry tree outside the window fills the room with pink reflected light, the day is full of possibilities and I am content.

Other people are mewed up in schools, offices, shops and factories, not to be released till the better part of the day is over. I am not, because officially, I am old – a member of that cohort in receipt of government benefits, (which I’ve contributed to all my working life,) bombarded by post with flyers for rise-and-recline armchairs, booster toilet-seats, hidden hearing aids, home security devices and funeral plans.

The statisticians have been at it again and have come to the pleasing conclusion that “four out of ten people aged 65-85 enjoy high levels of happiness”. Hmm…… that’s pitching it a bit strong. Happiness is a frame of mind directly due to circumstance. Blessed are they who coast through life gifted with good health, good looks, a steady income, a fulfilling career, stable relationships and reliable friends.

Ageing is a series of gradual losses one is powerless to prevent. Not exactly a prospect to lighten the heart. The best one can do is accommodate oneself to the inevitable and get on with it. People say there are no advantages to growing old. On the face of it, that’s true. When bits of you stop working properly, you forget things, or misplace stuff, or take ‘wee notions’; when you reach for a word in conversation and just can’t grasp it; when your adult children, with the best of intentions, begin bossing you around, checking your calendar and buying you helpful kitchen gadgets from the Lakeland catalogue instead of perfume and silk scarves, it gets a bit worrying.

Apropos of nothing, another set of statistics reveals that anxiety wastes five years of our lives. As the Fridge Magnet Philosopher puts it: “Worry’s like a rocking-chair. It’ll give you something to do, but it won’t get you anywhere.”

Bereavement of course is a cataclysmic game-changer. An acquaintance of mine says mournfully that most of her social life is conducted at funerals. Regret too, saps the spirit – pondering roads not taken, dreams unfulfilled, ambitions thwarted, a host of what-might-have-beens crowd in (if one permits them and shrivel the soul. These are the somber-coloured strands in life’s rich tapestry.

But turn the tapestry over and focus on the bright and positive possibilities. Having spent a working lifetime longing to do what one pleases, now the opportunity presents itself. Life can be as full or as empty as we choose. While we have our health and our feet under us, we must retain a sense of purpose and keep going. This is our ‘me’ time. No more clock-watching, striving and accommodating others. Time instead to read, potter, cultivate neglected friendships; learn something, join something, volunteer, or harness our talents to a new venture.

It’s vital to keep connected, otherwise loneliness and depression will claim us. Solitude though is not synonymous with loneliness. It’s peace and head-space-time to think and plan and remember. Don’t underestimate the joy of Not Going. Age bestows complementary gifts to replace those time has stolen, chief amongst them a sense of proportion, born of experience that everything passes and won’t amount to a whole hill of beans in the long run.

We’re forthright in our opinions now, confident in their validity and comfortable in our own skin, (even if it’s acquired a few creases.) If we haven’t exactly accrued wisdom then we’ve developed at least a modicum of common sense. We please ourselves and no longer care what anybody thinks nor how they judge us. Father Time may be scything a few of us off round the edges, but we’re the ‘baby boomer’ generation and we’re not going quietly.

Heavens! Look at the time. You mustn’t imagine me sitting here counting my diminishing blessings. I’m about to seize the day, put on some music, don yellow gloves and dance with Mr Muscle.