At work today we had a really lovely birthday cake. It was rich and chocolatey and caramelish, and was enjoyed universally by the people I work closely with. We also had some chocolate in a meeting I was involved in. Aside from that, and some lovely calls and wishes, it’s been a reasonably quiet birthday. I had visions of doing something special for my forty-fifth, but at the end of the day I couldn’t be bothered. I think I’ll save up the celebrations for my fif…. fif…. fif…. fifitieth in 2015.
“It’s the invisible age” I told a bloke at work today. He’s a younger gay bloke – ten years young than me – and he asked how I felt about my birthday. “The thing about this age”, I told him, is that you become “invisible”. It’s an issue I’ve discussed with female friends of a similar age. You’ve lost the allure of youth, but haven’t quite reached the interest level of being older. You go into a bar, they serve the young people first, then the older, and somehow you get completely ignored. It’s the same on buses and in shops. It’s the “invisible age”. “You should go to bars where they serve old people”, he told me.
Despite this, it’s probably the best part of life. You’ve gained wisdom and feel more confident in who you are as a person, and the mistakes of youth are far behind. You haven’t learned everything yet, and there’s still lots more to learn. And yet you’re still physically fit enough not to have to worry about the ailments of aging. Career wise, I’m still “on the way up”, and I don’t think anyone has started to look at me with the “are you still here?” look on their face.
Even though it’s the “invisible age”, it’s also a great part of life. Roll on.