Ageless 

I am 55. Which is a beautiful number to be. This will shortly be replaced with a six, both in front and in back. So I shall write this now while I am still enchanted by the double digits. 

I don’t usually express my age…because once I say it, it becomes a major character in the conversation that follows. Which is both boring and boxing. I have never enjoyed offering the measurements of my life so that I can be neatly slotted into someone else’s box set. I prefer to be discovered, than defined.

We say age is just a number, but this is far from the truth. Age is in fact the tightest corset we wear, from birth to death it defines us and is the strictest ruler against which to measure our accolades or lack there of. From the get go - how many weeks pregnant are you - you are small or you are large, similar questions asked for the first months. Eventually the questions became more milestoned - does he walk does he talk - oooh so early or perhaps late against the endless markers of time. And so on it goes… still so dependent, ooh how very precocious, still wearing those, what books, what grades, what speed, what schools, what jobs, what relationships, what income, what children, what housing, what and so on and so on.

Dependent on your age you are supposed to be a long list of this’s and not thats.

And upon this measure your success or failure as a human is assessed.

The clock is always ticking and judging.

The thing I object to most about age is the singularity of it, it assumes that I am this one thing, when I am not. There are times in the day when I am 55, there are times in the day when I am 5.5 and there are times in the day when I am 555. Sometimes I am all of these things in an hour. I am not a fixed point, I am a constantly shifting ball of glowing energy inside of a skin suit.

So the only thing that is actually 55, is the skin suit. The skin suit is also being assessed as to how good it is at being this number. Try as I might to ignore the looks, I feel them. I know them well, they are the same looks I give myself in the mirror. It is this attachment to the perception of the skin suit that hinders me the most. I am held hostage by diminishing collagen production and gravity. But while collagen does nothing but diminish me, gravity also grounds me to the earth in a way that feels good. Roots growing into the core and receiving the nutrients in a way I didn’t when life was all lifted. Equally and oppositely my inner world rises with a buoyancy I only caught glimpses of in younger life. 

Would I trade the richness of my insides for the lushness of my outsides? Absolutely not. 

My inner world is a wonderland of wisdom and truth and clarity and each year offers exponentially less fucks given. I yearn to allow my inner beauty to swallow my outer beauty, digesting and releasing it like a dodgy prawn I ate as a child.

 I am trying with all my might to walk a path of freedom. I am achieving this so frequently and in so many dimensions. I find the sharpest terrain is that of age, that shit runs deep and I fall often.

I stand up, soothe the bruise and remember my devotion to an ageless life originally lived in full freedom.

Even if I have to remind myself 55 times a day.

I love you agelessly.

I really do.

TKx