My Fear of Ageing

I have been thinking about ageing lately. As I reach my mid 30s I am beginning to notice wrinkles and a few stray grey hairs creeping up on me. I thought puberty was scary enough.

Yes, I am scared of ageing.

Ageing adj. 1. growing old; elderly. 2. the process of growing old.

I know it has to happen and it is something we all have to accept, but it is only one rung down the ladder below death, in my list of fears. I am bombarded by media fuel for my fears. It is part of the world in which we live. I know many cultures are respectful and aware of the wisdom of elders but we can’t deny that nearly everywhere we look a screen or a page is sending an anti ageing message.

Don’t get me wrong I am not scared of the aged. I am surrounded by aged people I respect and admire. I am part of a writing group. I am the youngest in the writing group by about 40 years. The other members are all senior citizens, we meet every two weeks to write and chat. Although sometimes they like to argue it is usually a great way to share writing ideas. Sometimes I get distracted by the creases in the ageing skin surrounding me and I don’t listen properly. When I do listen I am impressed by the wisdom and knowledge of these people with a wealth of experience. One group member is a retired English Master he has so much I can learn about writing and literature. He is a valuable critic to have. I am privileged and lucky to be in the company of these older people, they all have so much to offer. Although one of my writing friends has died since I joined the group, I guess I may have to get used to it. My grand dad’s friends die all the time.

Maybe that is why old men hang out in gangs. It is one of the strange things I have noticed they do. Older men in my community seem to think that after aged 50 they suddenly look good in groups wearing Lycra and riding on racing bikes. They don’t look attractive, they just block the roads of Fremantle and Perth where I live. They also gather in their Lycra bike wear in cafes. This puts me off my breakfast sausage and eggs for sure.

It is a weird phenomenom, old men in gangs, there are some in my local shopping centre, they gather on Thursdays. Croatians take the bench near Big W, Italians have the benches near the coffee house and the Portuguese gang hang out near the Newsagency. It is kind of creepy; if they were 60 years younger they would be moved on as a public nuisance. I know most are retired market gardeners who established the area. Now their old land is crammed with duplex houses. They must have cashed in on property so they can’t be out just for pension day. Old men just like gangs.

Older women do strange things too. I know I will be a strange old woman god willing. Until then I will try to do some of the things that help me to prevent ageing. I will endeavour to eat well and exercise.

 As part of my defense against ageing, I went walking on the beach this morning and soon started running. I got the motivation and energy boost from the old women’s bodies flaunted before me. Yes old women don’t care what they look like in bikinis. I use the sagging breasts and bums as a training tool. The naked old women who stroll around in the change rooms at my gym inspire me to put more into my work out. Madonna exercises and she is a very fit elder. Although we could speculate as to whether it is all a result of yoga and Pilates.

Maybe I should learn from the confident nude old women and just except myself for who I am. Ageing gracefully can be beautiful. I read somewhere once that as you age beauty drops from your outer shell but shines more brightly from deep within your heart. In general I think this is true.

I guess I should overcome this fear and enjoy the wisdom and beauty of the aged people I know.