After much contemplation, I’ve come to believe that the mother or rather the godmother of all clichés is this, “age is just a number!” Let me begin with this admission, I too have used this generously over the years. So yeah, guilty as charged! Consider it my stupidity or naivety, I’ve used it often till one day (in the recent past) I recognised this cliche for what it is: a bloody euphemism for not accepting the natural and inevitable process of ageing. Yes, you read it right.
A way to dodge formal acceptance of age. A polite way to comfort, “oh don’t worry, you still look young!” “Oh, don’t fret about your age, it’s just a number!” It’s a way to sugarcoat reality; of polite, dishonest conversations; a dose of opium to distance from the inevitable.
Call it a part of me growing older; not sure wiser but older, yes. And trust me, I feel age in every bone. I can hear all kinds of sounds when I sit down and stand up; when I try to squat and my knees and hips, scream, “slow and steady please!” When I slide one leg inside the trouser with the other taking a pause before starting the process again! When one poori brings all acids right into my mouth, thanks to a great gut. When burps become embarassing sound effects at the dining table. When the gut, the bones, the muscles, the hormones all go into revolution mode (I still haven’t figured out their demands). I give them rest, pills, good nutritious food, pamper them, still these buggers protest.
Guess that’s why even doctors aren’t capable of treating peri-menopause characters! These guys have a mind of their own which no one understands. I mean, if the natural process of ageing wasn’t enough with its usual Vit D deficiency, calcium, bone weakening, yada yada yada, these peri-menopause creatures, add to the chaos, come on let’s party! Yay! The more the merrier!!!
What I’m trying to say is, I feel age in every part of my body, in my mood, in my head, in my emotions, you name it and age is there; palpable and felt in every beat, every breath. But look, I don’t mean to freak anyone out nor puncture any “positive” bubble here. (Actually I don’t mind the latter!) Anyway, from what I’ve come to understand is that growing old is natural. And that’s okay. All we can do about it is to be realistic and deal with it.
Exercise, eat the right food, do regular check-ups, keep the mind free of stress (which is a task but doable) and all of that. That is what has helped me. Not by giving myself false hope that age is “just a number.” Of course it is a number, literally speaking; could be 6 or 60.
But by reducing it to a number, wr are trivializing it, we are just deluding ourselves into believing that we are still young and healthy. We are no longer young and we have to really walk that extra mile to stay fit and healthy.
Moreover, what I’ve noticed is when people dabble in these cliches, most often than not, it tends to equate age and youth with only appearance and figure. When they say, “age is just a number” what they mean is, “don’t worry you don’t look old!” Which begs this question, how do we define young and old? Is it how far you can run or cannot? When was your last marathon? How heavy can you lift or not? Are you below size 10 or beyond ?
Is your skin still supple and your breasts haven’t sagged or are they in a race to hang lower? What is it? Perhaps, once we’ve scratched the surface, once the nail chips off a little in the process, do we realise how cosmetic this expression is, “age is just a number!”
Age is about accepting yourself for who you were and who you are becoming. From that agile teenager who could run 200 meters without panting, eat 33 rasgullas and 18 poories (yes, that was a competition I was in) without any acids protesting, do 100 squats and lunges, sprint like a kangaroo to someone who thinks 10 million times before eating a poori, sit carefully lest the back gets perturbed, pop vitamin supplements as prescribed by the doctor, the journey has been on a steady incline of difficulty but bearable because I understood, I could never turn back time.
What’s most important, is our mindset. I’ve seen 35 year olds who behave like ammachis with outdated views; and I’ve seen 65 year olds, with a zest for life and a very liberal outlook. Youth is in our minds and hearts. And age has nothing to do with it.
I’ve seen women fret over crossing age-zones. From 29 to 30, from 39 to 40, and so on. The only time I felt that anxiety was when I stepped into my 30s. Yes, I did tell myself, 30s now…whoa, okay! After that, nothing. Nada. It never really bothered me that I was passing decades at a fast pace. Now, in my mid forties, I’ve never felt so free because with age came this attitude of moving away from drama; more confident of my decisions; more determined in what truly matters to me; my wellbeing and happiness.
There are idiotic bucket lists, things to do before 40, before 50. Hello, as if there’s no life thereafter! Never mind! Ageing is real and there’s no running away from it. The earlier we embrace it and live it, the easier it gets to navigate its challenges and enjoy it. And more than anything, what matters most is our mental health; a matter that either gets shrouded in consumerist noise or unspoken stigma, leaving very few spaces for honest conversations.
A fit body but a disturbed mind is a recipe for turmoil. And all these cosmetic cliches about ageing don’t help at all. Rather, reinforces insecurity and self-loathing, something I learned a few years back from a therapist dealing with anorexia in young girls.
Perhaps, it’s time to listen to what your body needs, your heart desires and mind craves for. Perhaps, it’s time to have honest conversations. Perhaps, it’s time to tell people, especially young girls that if age is a number, then every number has its own set of challenges; just as it also has it joy, its quirk, its oddities, its perks and its beauty. It’s time for plainspeak and not some sugarcoated, dishonest humbug masquerading as “motivation” and “compliment!”
Okay, now time for my Vitamin D!!!
-Anusuya
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