Middle Age And The Journey Before

You know you've arrived at this glorious point in life when you really can't decide whether great sex or a nice curry is the best way to spend an evening. When you inspect nasal and ear hair more closely than seems appropriate. When the thought of being in a nightclub leaves you with an unpleasant rash. My transition came into sharp relief during this years world cup. I watched all the games at home bar one, that being the semi final. I'd been in the pub for all of 10 minutes when I become offended by the sheer absence of IQ of the fellow patrons. Grown men were yelling profanities at a wall mounted screen, stumbling around with glazed eyes whilst the few females brave enough to share the space looked on with bewilderment. God, I just wanted to be at home. Heck give me a long walk in the country and a quiet country pub at lunch time any day of the week. I'm also starting to utter sentences which begin with "Back in my day" or "When I was a lad", which fills me with a vague self loathing. I come from an age when the internet didn't exist. When you knocked on your mates door or used a phone to ask if they were "Coming out". Youth club was the central social hub twice a week, and we'd all turn up on bikes and play pool and table tennis and lie about all the sex we'd not actually had. I'd like to think those were the days, but I'm not actually convinced. I was an angst ridden teen, a little insecure having carried a few extra pounds until my 15th summer when I spent weeks doing various sports and grew a few inches. I lost the puppy fat, developed a tight arse, and lo and behold girls began to notice me for reasons other than being the class joker. I clearly didn't have a clue how to be around them. Clueless doesn't even begin to describe it. It was a perplexing minefield and behind my bravado was a fairly shy lad who just didn't know how to be. He still surfaces from time to time. Of course the passing years do, or at least should bring a little maturity, and I recall distinctly walking into town one day a couple of decades later, a husband and father and homeowner, and suddenly being struck by the reality that "I was an adult". I'm 47 now, but I don't think I've lost the drive to explore what life has to offer. I'm very open minded, ravenous to learn things, and determined not to settle into some dreary holding pattern. I mean, surely none of us should allow ourselves just to fade away? To grow dim like one of those adjustable wall lights? I've got a journey ahead of me, ideas and dreams. And of course responsibilities. Both my daughters are older now, 13 and 17 respectively. I want to give them the strongest possible foundations, to encourage them in their hopes and dreams, and above all to give them confidence that they don't have to conform to some societal norm. I long for them to discover who they are on their own terms, to never live their lives as an apology. It's important to me that they both know that Joy and I "Have their back". I started this blog waxing lyrical about middle age, then veered off on the usual nonsensical tangent. That's OK. I've no editor I have to answer to. This is me free wheeling. I'm off to work in a while, during which I'll encounter people at their worst, and occasionally best. My job reminds me that there's any number of ways which a life can veer off kilter. Some of it under our control, some of it just bad life choices. It sounds so glib to use the cliche that we need to learn from our mistakes, yet I see no alternative. Life owes us nothing and comes with no assurance of happiness. We have to carve out the special times, chart our path through the random nature of existence. And perhaps be a little appreciative of when the seas are calm. Treasure the good moments, pause and cherish them. We spend way too much of our lives "Doing" and not nearly enough just "Being". I think if middle age has taught me anything, it's probably that.