Emma shares the wisdom she’s collected so far in life, despite her disbelief 

IT’S been a big week readers, one where all signs pointed to the fact that I’ve turned 50. My birth cert says so, so does my drivers’ licence, and so did all the cards that I’ve got from my lovely friends and family. For some reason though I’m still having some trouble accepting it as reality. There are stages to it. The first is denial: didn’t I just celebrate my 40th the other day? Are we sure about this? 

Followed by exhilaration brought on by presents, and everyone making a fuss of me; I could get used to this! Next, a modicum of peace: sure look it, age is just a number isn’t it? Then a desire to lie down after everyone stops making a fuss of me and there’s no more cake. Then there’s a hint of confusion: are we sure I’m really 50? Finally, snapping out of it mainly because no one will listen to any more of my naval-gazing and the dishwasher needs to be emptied. 

Now, would I prefer to be 40? Yes. Would I prefer to be 30? Absolutely yes. But you have to work with what you have and according to one of my cards I’m ‘Fab at 50’. Ha! More like ‘Flab at 50’ but, there you go. I’ve decided I’m not going to be one of those people who lies about their age, or bemoans their changing looks. Nope. Definitely not. 

I’m not going to weep about the two deep grooves that appeared recently overnight across my neck, like rings on a tree trunk telling my age. Or get upset that every kilo I gain is going to stick with me to the bitter end, and that anything that suggests youthfulness has left the building (mostly collagen and spontaneity). 

I will accept that having more than three drinks on any occasion results in a near-death experience or horrific heartburn, and the fact that I’ve developed a weird habit of saying ‘right so,’ a million times a day. I will come to terms with the fact that I often forget what I came into a room for, and that I check the death notices regularly. Nope, I’m not going to feel bad about any of those things, at all.

Nor am I going to feel upset about chin hair, and the injustice that when you hit the middle-age era hair refuses to grow anywhere but the chin, and horror upon horrors, big toes. I’m oblivious to both unless I’m wearing my glasses which is a fair trade-off I suppose. 

Another trade-off is that after five decades on this earth, I have picked up some nuggets of wisdom along the way and in the spirit of generosity I’m going to share some with you. Here goes.

First up: be the person your dog thinks you are. I got a gift of a cushion with that on it years back and while normally I hate things like this (pet peeve is anything with ‘Eat, Pray, Love’) I love this, because it’s true. So with that in mind: try not to trash talk, be generous with your compliments but sincere, know when to say yes and know when to say no, and allow yourself to be a bit selfish if it doesn’t harm anyone, but show up for people you care about. 

Next, mind your friendships. I’m marking the ‘Big 5-0’ with a night away with two pals I’ve known since I was 12, which is an incredible 38 years ago (when we didn’t even know chin hair was a thing). We joke that we know too much about each other to cut each other loose, but there’s something so easy about friendships like this. 

Equally, celebrate new friendships which are really exciting. Everyone is busy and if people want to do stuff with you that’s pretty epic. And if you have siblings (I’m lucky enough to have three) don’t forget to cut loose and do fun stuff with them too. It doesn’t have to be all adulting and arguing about who is hosting Christmas; party like it’s 1999!

Also, in no particular order: Meal plan, it just makes life an awful lot easier, and always try to have a quiche and scones in the freezer for unannounced visitors. Have a party piece ready to rock, as it’s a crime to be caught out (Dear Old Skibbereen is as good a ballad as any to perfect). 

Have a good coat. Have a funeral outfit too. It might be morbid, but who wants to be scouring next-day delivery websites in a time of turmoil. Have a good skincare routine but be realistic: there will be fine lines and not-so-fine lines. Have a decent tweezers (see reference to chin hair but for god’s sake stay away from your eyebrows). Have a decent pair of sunglasses (very useful for days when you’re feeling antisocial and if worn with that good coat, it means you’re ready for most eventualities). Never ignore warning lights in your car, and have a really good flask (nothing tastes as lovely as a cuppa outdoors). 

This one is important: Do not send emails or texts in anger. By all means write it down, send it to yourself if it makes you feel better but give yourself a cooling off period, overnight if possible, before hitting ‘send’. I’ve found this works brilliantly because fury fades pretty quickly and c’mon…you’re better than that! Also, the simple sentence ‘I’m sorry you feel like that’ works brilliantly to diffuse most situations, even if you’re not all that sorry. 

I’ve recently realised that moderation really is key, there’s definitely something in that. Every now and then though, throw caution to the wind but make sure you’re with someone who hasn’t also thrown caution to the wind, and who knows how you’re getting home. There’s no need to be completely reckless. 

True fact: Nobody is that bothered about you. And I mean that in the nicest way possible, as in we’re all too busy with our own stuff and a bit selfish so go on, dance like no one is watching, because the truth is, no one is. 

Getting a bit older is quite liberating as you no longer feel like you have to go along with things. 

For example, I don’t  feel embarrassed that I don’t listen to podcasts, I’m not really sure what ‘hotspotting’ is and I’m ok with that, and I don’t like putting my head under water when I’m swimming even though it makes me look a comical duck but, I don’t care!

Remember to keep moving: your future self, and knees, will thank you for it. Just maybe avoid mirrors if you can when working out. Recently, I felt like my plank had improved and was something to be proud of, so I dropped to the floor and did it in front of my bedroom mirror. In my mind I looked like a steel ironing board when in the position but the reality was more like a semi inflated lilo air mattress, and that was with my clothes on. Big mistake. So stay active but avoid mirrors and don’t spoil the illusion. 

Jokes aside, 50 a bit of a sobering milestone to reach and not everyone has the privilege. I heard someone refer to the next decade as ‘sniper alley’, where you duck and dive bombshells and hopefully get to 60 relatively unscathed. It’s true. If it’s just creaky knees and heartburn I’ve to deal with, then it’s cause for gratitude and celebration, so happy birthday to me! To heck with it. 

Is there any cake left, I wonder?