With the life expectancy of an Australian woman now at 83.7 years, I guess I'm now (thanks to a birthday today) middle-aged. Perched at the top of the proverbial hill, I'm not sure if I want to start the journey downward. Downward is such a depressing word. Are the 42 years ahead of me destined to be nothing more than preparation for death? When you think about, the literal answer is obviously yes. We all have to go sometime I suppose. But it's not that that I'm worried about in particular, it's more a case of how much more is there to do in the next 42 years?
The first four decades have been pretty packed. Learning to do things like walk, talk, eat, read, write, fall in love, stay out of trouble and tie shoelaces. All the essentials.
Perhaps the next 42 can be spent learning the non-essentials, things you've always wanted to do but never had the time for because you've been too busy learning the essentials.
Things like:
Getting a golf handicap: very high on the agenda. Golf is a game, if I can say so myself, that I think I would be very good at if I played regularly. Sure, all occasional hackers say this but I believe it and anyone who's ever picked up a golf club knows that golf is a mind game. I've even run the suggestion, that next year, once both kids are in school, that one of my days off during the week could be spent playing golf, past my darling husband, (and thank you for the beautiful birthday flowers my sweetheart - is that enough sucking up?) and once he had finished raising his eyebrows at me, said he could probably be talked into some agreement.
Making every meal from scratch: should be high on the agenda. I'm starting to feel terribly guilty everytime I open a packet of Continental Beef Stroganoff mix. (Been hanging around Food and Wine editor Kirsten Lawson too long.) But I cannot, for the life of me, find a recipe that tastes as good. But it's my goal to clear out the pantry of all the jars and packets and boxes of stuff that are made up of the jars and packets and boxes of stuff already in the pantry. Does that make sense?
Be better with money: should be high on the agenda and should probably be an essential. The other day someone used the acronym GEC in an email, explaining why she couldn't do something. I'm thinking GEC? No idea. Oh that's right. I guess if the world is being urged to pay more attention it should filter down to everyone of us. I must stop giving in to the kids' constant demands to buy stuff. I'm figuring this will be easier when I'm able to shop on my own. Perhaps I should be thinking about better ways to stop my children being greedy little buggers but that would require too much effort. But there's little things I'm going to start with like walking more often rather than taking the car, planning meals so the grocery bill doesn't blow out, getting more organised with presents and buy more in sales, and give myself a set amount of pocket money to spend on "my stuff" and if I don't have the cash to get that magazine than bad luck.
Get some style: medium-level on the agenda because I don't know if it's possible. I want to be one of those middle aged woman who look good. Seeing I haven't been a young woman with style it might be hard. I want to be able to throw on a well-cut white shirt, a pair of jeans, some sneakers, and look good. I want a haircut that allows me to embrace the grey and do nothing to it except wash it in the morning and look like I've stepped out of a salon. I want a wardrobe with about eight items in it that all work together, for work and play. I'd like nice shoes. I'd like to be done over by Carson Kressley and shout to the world I look good naked. This goal doesn't sit very well with the one above but hey.
There's four there, one for each decade. I'm sure once I've gone home tonight and eaten copius amounts of cake with the kids. (Darling husband, you have remembered to make one haven't you?) I'll think of many more ... like losing weight ... and not eating such copius amounts of cake.
Happy birthday me.