New glasses yesterday. They’re purple and I can see clearly* through them. (*insert music)
It would be easy to write a(nother) post about how things change as time passes. You know? Night life is all about the right moment for giving in to the call of the PJs rather than the hall with the DJs. A well-tended garden sparking joy or celebrating a day when you remember everything you needed to.
I’m not going to do that. Getting older isn’t a laughing matter. It deserves better than the chortles of the middle-aged who find themselves astonished and apologising for their sagging, greying changes. In the face of a world obsessed by youth, what else are we supposed to do?
How about we celebrate? Yes, you heard. Changing eyesight brings the opportunity for fabulous new glasses, through which we can see the changing seasons in the knowledge that the – however much it resists – an old season will give way to the loveliness of the next.
We don’t get older to become the butt of our own jokes: ‘silly me, while I wasn’t paying attention, middle age has moved in’. Instead changing is, without doubt, the source of joy – fresh joy – if you only put on your specs and look for it. After all, the relentless years spin on whether you welcome them or not.