Monday, 22 June 2015

what i am

Today someone asked if I minded my age being public. Regularly students are shocked when I volunteer my age instead of allowing them to guess (usually ranging from 23 to 56 - go figure!). I hasten to add that I am not compliment fishing, I just don't see the point in being embarrassed, coy or hiding your age. It's what it is. I'm 43. 1972 was a brilliant year for births, obviously. Being a child of the 70s was great - we were allowed outside 'til it got dark and three TV channels were more than enough. Experiencing teendom in the 80s meant fab music and BratPack films. I was at uni during the Britpop 90s and raved all the way through to my first job, but was also eager enough to keep up with technology as the millennium dawned. Seriously, who could ask for more? And now that the GeordieLad finally caught up with me on the goodship 40 this weekend, it's even better!

Bizarrely when I was a youth-type person I dreamt about being around in the 1960s because the fashion, the music, the Afros, the feminist writing was so mind-blowing. Until I read a couple of history books and realised the sixties was maybe not the best place for a black woman - social-politics wise - compared with the here and now. It's ironic that I roll my eyes at kids trusssed up in re-vamped eighties fashion in the same way I thought I looked cool in sixties gear.

Don't get me wrong I occasionally wish I could turn the clock back to right a few wrongs or take a different path to a better life destination. And I do wish I had appreciated my curves pre-kids, coz Lord knows those children came bearing more curves for me and they're both here to stay. Kids and Curves.

Overall though. Post40 me is a better me. Not perfect. Still improving. Always learning. Feeling loved.  

So no, I certainly don't mind being asked my age, being teased about my age, sharing my age in public. It is what it is. More importantly, I'm looking forward to 44.

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