The joys of ageing

A few weekends before my recent milestone birthday I met up with a girlfriend for breakfast on a Sunday morning. We met at 9am, not to accommodate either one of our busy schedules or even little people. We met at that time because we'd both been in bed the night before at a truly respectable (or, depending on your view point, entirely unacceptable) hour. Admittedly my brunch companion's Saturday night had been a tad more exciting than mine; she actually ventured out for dinner and engaged in conversation beyond 7pm.


My Saturday evening consisted of hopping into my pyjamas after Miss I went to bed, applying a hydrating facial mask and then scanning the television for something remotely entertaining while flicking through the newspapers. Mr G was at work and I was fast asleep by 9.30pm. Rocking times. 


The next morning over coffee I outlined the extent of my wild festivities to my friend and we laughed that we must be getting old. Not because we had quiet nights but because of how much we had enjoyed them. While my 20 year old self might have been horrified at the prospect of spending a Saturday night home alone without a single plan, the 30 year old version didn't think twice about it.


It got us started talking about the best bits about getting older. My friend loves that the clothes she likes wearing are now perfectly acceptable for her age. She hasn't been getting around in twinsets or floral dresses but I know exactly what she means because she has never been remotely interested in sporting harem pants, neon jeans or whatever the latest fashion trend dictates. She has always preferred clothes of the more classic persuasion and at 30 that is bang on.


For me, I love that I will never again feel pressured to go to, or feign interest in, a music festival. Actually what's even better is I will never again even engage in internal dialogue about a music festival. As a uni student in my early 20s I thought I was deeply flawed somehow because, to me, the idea of going to a music festival was akin to stepping into my personal version of hell. Everyone else seemed to live for these events that I dreaded. I'm not remotely cool. If it's not played on commercial radio chances are I won't have heard the music. I can't imagine anything worse than a mosh pit and the list goes on. Whereas I can now type that without batting an eyelid, as ridiculous as it sounds, I actually spent years trying to hide those simple facts certain they would reveal my social shortcomings. I guess it was a function of being young, impressionable and, of course, insecure. I can now say with my hand on my heart that I'm very comfortable with the fact that I'm not – and never was - a festival goer. It's actually very funny that I ever questioned that.


So, for me, one very distinct joy of growing older is realising that some of the things that worried me as a 20 year old now make me laugh. What is your favourite part of growing older? Did you have any quirks or disastrous truths you tried to hide?