By the time you are reading this, I will have turned Sixty-Effin-Seven. I don’t like the sound of that number, hence the middle two syllables.

I recall the belly aching I did when I turned fifty, but from this perspective, I’d take fifty in a heart beat. Relative to the rest of our lives, we are young for a very short period of time.

When I turned thirty, a friend who couldn’t have been more than thirty-five warned me, “Oh, things will change now. You won’t heal as quickly, you’ll start to slow down…”

Age happens. There is no denying that. I mean, a negative personality characteristic can be refuted. Shameful secrets can be kept. But age? Beyond fudging a few years here and there, age asserts itself with all the muster of a boot camp sergeant shouting spittle in your face. Sure, there is botox and filler, smoke and mirrors, but nothing can restore anyone to their former collagen packed glory. 

Aging well is hard work. And the hard work happens in the daily practice of all the boring stuff. The exercise routines, the walks, maintaining core strength and mobility, eating a well chosen diet — not too much of this, not too much of that. Stay busy, stay social. Actually, some of these things might not be considered boring. The point here is there is a responsibility year in, year out, day in, day out to keep oneself from declining into decrepitude.

We know we need to take care of our physical selves, but everybody rusts out eventually. So what if… what if instead of aches and pains and knees and hips we focussed on the good things that come with accumulated years? What if instead of warning me about injuries and sore knees after the age of thirty, my friend had said, “Oh, things will change now… You’ll have an increased capacity to love, an improved perspective on life’s foibles, and you’re going to enjoy the richness of decades long friendships.”

What if?

I genuinely consider myself fortunate to have had the privilege to age well. Key word here is privilege. Every birthday it boils down to the same thing; what is my current state of affairs? How healthy am I? How happy am I?

Pretty happy. Sixty-Effin-Seven be damned.

Click here for a look at one of my favourite age related Contentment is for Cows scenes, from Chapter Three.

Stay safe everyone.

Anne Milne is an every Sunday blogger.  Facebook or Twitter.