Ageing Gracefully

Most days the only time I bother to look in the mirror is in the morning to make sure I look in somewhat reasonable order before heading to work. I don’t think about it much, slap on the face moisturiser, treat the rest of the extremities to an all over grease and oil change to combat dryness, then tweek my hair with some goo to make it stick up for my characteristic ageing pixie look. There are some days though when I notice I really am looking my age, but maybe that’s because on those occasions I’m feeling my age. I don’t mind getting older, though the aches and pains and other challenges that crop up along the way aren’t always welcome, and putting in the extra effort to maintain everything takes a bit longer.

Some things age well, like a good wine left undisturbed in the rack, art in its many forms, or some well-crafted piece of furniture made hundreds of years ago that increases with value each time it is bought and sold at auction or in antique stores. The practice of ‘distressing’ new furniture to make it appear old is testament to the fact there are plenty on the lookout for something with character, instead of a sleek smooth surface often devoid of just that.

Other things don’t age particularly well though. Their lifespan is quite limited, usually dependent on the quality of the materials used. Our disposable consumer-driven society actually depends on things breaking down and falling apart and outliving their usefulness. If they didn’t there’d be an awful lot of people out of work, and the economy would probably grind to a halt.

General wear and tear though doesn’t have to be a negative thing. If we were too precious about every new thing we purchased we’d feel like we were living in display houses instead of homes, too anxious to allow our possessions to move on from their pristine look. And I think the same goes for our ageing bodies as well. My wrinkles are becoming more deeply etched as the years go by, and no amount of lotion or potion is going to change that. Where I was once shiny bright and brand new, and slim and trim, the cellulite and rolls of fat have taken over and arthritis dogs my every step. It seems no matter what fitness regime I attempt, my efforts end up exacerbating some problem or other, causing me to arrive at my give up line very quickly. But I’m still motoring along, I haven’t outlived my usefulness yet.

I regularly watch Escape to the Country and Grand Designs, and am fascinated to find people queueing up in droves to buy houses anything up to four hundred years old, and restoring derelict buildings looking for all intents and purposes worthy only of the wrecking ball. To see their interiors refurbished or gutted and modernised, and their exteriors spruced up and often extended, gives credence to the value of maintaining what was created all those years ago, instead of demolishing it and starting from scratch.

History proves that just because something’s old doesn’t mean it’s past its use-by date. I’m hanging on to that fact.

The passage of time

purpose built, now obsolete

beauty in decay