This line ends up landing on my 40th Birthday. I find that, for perhaps the first time, I am filled with a sense of trepidation about my age. I have mostly embraced the shift from year to year before now (although truthfully the last two have had a twinge of a sneak preview of this age trepidation.)
There is nothing to be done about it. Age happens regardless of how we feel about it – but I am surprised at how much this feels like the passing of my youth. Within all of that though, is the anticipation of liberation. That in no longer being young, I might finally achieve some respect, might be able, for once and for all, release all hope of pleasing other people, of maintaining an illusion of trying to fit in. It’s as if I will go straight from maiden dresses to purple, as in When-I-am-an-Old-Lady-I-will-Wear-Whatever-the-Fuck-I-want-because-it-doesn’t-matter-any-more Purple.
I am entering middle age, see. That’s the trick. And in the archetypal structure, we go from maiden to mother to crone. But who are we, those who are not mothers? This space is a blank, almost. Maiden – SOMETHING – Crone. And I suspect this is why I imagine going straight to my I Shall Wear Purple Stage. Because there’s nothing in between. Which makes me feel as though I’m falling off the edge of the earth. Nay, that follows not.