Time To Put Away Childish Things?

I still pursue items and outings from my youth and hanker after what I consider to be happier days. I always buy the same liquid soap as one of my favourite Soho bars because it reminds me of being out late every time I wash my hands. My Proustian experience however, doesn’t make me happy, it makes me nostalgic and tearily reminiscent.

We kept our two-seater sports car long after after we should have given it up, in fact our son was in his second year. It actually took a write-off crash for us to realise we needed to move on and we bought a family-friendly replacement with the insurance money (oh and a new kitchen!). Sadly it’s a huge American cruiser with the turning circle of an oil-tanker and despite having absolutely nothing but diesel fumes under the bonnet I still assume that I will make it first away from the traffic lights. But I don’t, not any more, younger women in faster cars without child seats in the back now beat me every time.

So if I have left my younger world then why can’t I find my place in the adult one? I still can’t cook properly, doubt my own decisions, get upset if I don’t get my own way and am a bit unsure about how to fill the car up with petrol despite having driven since the age of 17.

The other mothers at my son's soft-play group never spoke to me, never invited me for their usual coffee after class, they just didn’t recognise me as one of them. They had all made the move forward to being ‘a grown up’. They remembered to bring skinny lattes in big cups with them which they supped whilst watching their little ones run around. They also remembered to bring bananas and cups of milk for refreshment of their well turned out charges. I only remembered to arrive with a bit of banana in my hair. I never stood on the sidelines discussing the birthday-party-entertainer-du-jour just because I didn’t know who or what they were talking about, I was rolling around on the floor. They also managed to wear spotless beige and white and ‘smart jeans’, I am not sure I have ever worn beige and even if I could drum up the courage to go into a shop that sold ‘smart jeans’ I wouldn’t be able to fit in them.

Honestly I am not a hapless, wayward or ditzy person. Somehow I have managed to maintain a career. I was running my own company before I reached 30, and still am, I’m immensely proud of what we have achieved and the awards we have won. But during business meetings I can almost feel my feet rising up off the floor and swinging back and forth in a pair of new red buckled shoes as if I was a small girl daydreaming at school assembly. I am so absolutely sure sometimes I really shouldn’t be in the room as high-powered budget conversations ricochet above my head. When does the confidence of having worked consistently and successfully kick-in and become realised? And as I negotiate with colleagues and clients much younger than me when will I realise that yes, I am old enough to be in the room? In fact I am now getting a bit too old. I am probably even old enough to be heading towards a mid-life crisis and recently have had my first tattoo to prove it. Every time I get a bit hot there is a joke in my house about the approaching menopause.

I suppose I have reached a kind of easy acceptance of the lifestyle that being nearly 40 offers you and maybe instead of hankering after what has passed I should be enjoying the fact I don’t have to worry about impressing a date or preparing for that future-changing job interview. When I walk into a clothes shop, yes most of it won’t suit me but at least I can afford to buy it. I’m quite happy with my own company and despite still making terrible mistakes and outfit choices I am bothered a lot less by them. I also like olives, blue cheese, soft-furnishings and am almost thinking that taking a cruise might be in my future.

Youth really is wasted on the young. Why hate your body when you are only 20 years old? It’ll be a lot worse in another 20. Why cry about those partners who leave you? It’s all good experience for the heartache that marriage and parenthood will serve you up later in life. Even though I know I have lived an exciting younger life it doesn’t make me feel any better now that I know it’s over. I wish I had enjoyed myself more, spent more money, gone on more holidays, gone out with more guys, accepted more invitations, more more more. I certainly wish I had cared less, worried less, maybe even wore less? Maybe the time for all of that is now, why is it just the premise of the young?

I have two years to go until I hit 40 and I am not even considering making one of those awful lists full of things that you need to tick off before you hit that almost mythical age, but I am considering trying to grow up a bit and realise that my youth is behind me but a future full of still doing foolhardy things awaits. Happy Birthday!