Decluttering...

I am currently going through a spate of de-cluttering.

Emptying wardrobe contents, rifling through full boxes of old photos and reaching into the depths of cupboards with a shaky hand and a nervous twitch, slightly alarmed at what I might find.

It is an interesting process, de-cluttering. A cleansing and decision making process.

The hobbits and I are moving house soon and naturally are quite excited by the changes ahead. However the mere act of decluttering has seen me acknowledge the past as well as the future.

It is an inevitable thing. Take a box of photos that contain the last twenty odd years of your life, and you can't help but reminisce, shed a tear of joy or sadness, and laugh at old outfits that were worn in 1989.

This paraphernalia, including old pieces of furniture and even old clothes show a timeline of events that happened in your life and remind you of decisions and paths that you took...some for the good, some for the not so good.

Many of my big decision making moments over the years have been emotionally fraught, painful, refreshing and above all, scary...they would have kept me awake all night most probably, and I would have in no doubt, drowned my friends in my angst and fear whilst thinking through some of these decisions.

However, once the decision had been made, I was, and am, essentially on my own; bumbling my way through my resolution in an attempt to see it through to the best of my ability and to a successful conclusion. Alas, we know decisions don't always work out like that...not every choice we make comes out the way we intended.

I have made other decisions this past month that have been tinged with a hint of fear for the future; moving house; being strong in the face of adversity and letting go of something that could have potentially been special. I did all of these with a different emotion attached; a spring in my step, a gulp in my throat and a heaviness in my heart - but all with the same profound base; the care and health of my family and myself.

Are they the right ones? Well, only time will tell. However, I do have the benefit of past behaviour and all the best psychologists will say that this is always the best way to predict the future. Ergo, we have managed it this far on my decision making abilities without too much of a scathing, that hopefully, the best is yet to come.

...just a number...

My friend L recently informed me that he went on a course last week and met a young woman who was, in his words, simply perfect.

They laughed, they talked, they connected... and L had visions of their beautiful future together in front of a warm fire, two labradors and soft furnishings all sewn up in his mind's eye.

However his dream was rudely interrupted, when the young lady in question turned to him and uttered the worst sentence known to a man of his age...
"Oh, you are so nice," she smiled, "you remind me of my dad".

Oh.

This weekend I went to see a band that I hadn't seen in twenty odd years. Pootle and I scanned the room when we arrived, and Pootle deduced quite promptly that we were the youngest in the room. Correct that - she was potentially the youngest in the room. I looked around and noted that I recognised many of the faces ... and alas, they were no longer that young.

It came as quite a shock to me to recognise some of these men and women. They were faces I remembered from the past; they were middle aged drinkers, and old rockers that had once been lovers of pints of Bitter on a friday night at the local pub, and all night ravers on a dark night in an empty field. Now, they were parents...maybe even, grandparents...

Where did that time go? Am I the only who doesn't feel my actual age? If I don't look in the mirror and see the obvious reminder of where I am in my timeline, then I still feel as though I am in my mid twenties.
Seeing and recognising those 40 plus year olds in the bar shocked me, not because they had aged...but because I had aged right alongside them.

Another nail in my coffin was a conversation I had with a young lad this morning. Upon discovering he was just about to turn 21, I had a sharp intake of breath - I was now old enough to be his mum! Just like L had experienced this past week, I was now in a position where this young lad could say, "Oh, you are just like my mum,' then laugh as another wrinkle appeared on my forehead.

So what to do? Should I act like the person in the mirror, or act like the person that is still within? The one who still does like the odd pint of bitter? Who has fond memories of staggering home in the early hours of the morning and still getting up for work three hours later? Or is it time to embrace the next stage in the timeline? Middle aged acceptance...

Dare I say it - but I think the secret bitter drinker in me may just win. I think I'd prefer to stay in my twenties and avoid all mirrors. I am beginning to realise that thinking that we are old is what ages us...not the age itself.

It is, after all, just a number...