As we get older, we change; in the way we look, think, behave and especially for women, in the way we are perceived. Admitting your age very often changes the temperature as there are those who judge you by the numbers. It is silly of course since we all age differently and our life’s experiences also affect the way we age both physically and mentally. Attitude and temperament come into the equation too. I remember the late Anthony Abela, the sociologist telling me:  ‘There are the ‘old old’ and the ‘young old.’ The ‘young old’ are distinguished from the ‘old old’ by continued vigour and active social involvement. Look around you and you will see how true this is. How well you age is not a matter of botox and face lifts though I suspect these help if you are worried about your looks and are determined to keep the forces of decrepitude at bay. However, I have to add that I have known women who came out looking much worse after having their lips and cheeks pumped up.

Depending upon who you listen to, only 27% to 35% of aging is genetics we are told. We control the rest by drinking more water, moving every two hours and getting needed nutrition you can give yourself a better life longer. But is it as simple as that? It is a matter of luck, mostly, whether you have grey hair or no hair, an abundance of wrinkles so that your skin looks like a seasoned piece of leather and a triple chin or not.  Creaky joints are a reminder that you are not getting any younger and part of the general wear and tear.  The body’s systems begin to misfire. Regardless of how aging begins, researchers say the steps to extend a healthy, youthful life are familiar and simple. The same advice is repeated from trashy women’s magazines to academic research papers: “Watch what you eat, exercise, don’t smoke, keep your mind active and you’re more likely to live longer.”  Of course we all know that it is not quite as simple as that. There is so much we cannot control no matter how healthy our lifestyle. Perhaps our greatest worry is that we don’t want to become a burden on our loved ones. Hell must be having to stay in bed for months or even years on end and not being able to do anything for yourself. ‘ Please Jesus at least spare me that,’ is my prayer every other minute. Whether anyone is listening is another matter.

It’s not a disadvantage to look young  for your age as long as no one knows how old you actually are. Sad isn’t it, even if today’s 60-year-olds are yesterday’s 50-year-olds and so on. I have promised to pummel anyone who calls me senior citizen until I am an 80-year-old if I live that long. It is only then that I shall begin to admit to old age. I have every admiration for our Prime Minister who has been appointing distinguished senior citizens to posts which they so richly deserve and for which they are so well equipped. To hell with ageism and those who use it as a tool for their own ends. They will be lucky if they are allowed to grow old and do not collapse out of sheer bitterness and a spirit which is evil.

 What does the passage of time really mean, apart from the obvious fact that we are nearer death? It means that we have lost our innocence, some of us more so than others. That our childhood is long lost. Although some perhaps were born with guile and were never truly innocent here are Simone de Beauvoir’s words written on behalf of the majority: ‘those days when you could distinguish unhesitatingly between friends and enemies, good and evil, those days when life was as simple as a painting book.’ Greyness sets in with middle age and our world of black and white is lost forever. I have found it hard to adjust to a world of greyness. I prefer black or white. My generation grew up in a world where the distinction between adults and children was far greater than it is now. We were kept in the dark and away from the harsh realities of the world. Hardship and cruelty only existed in books and magazines. We didn’t have the responsibility for knowing things. We weren’t even allowed to look at photos in books and magazines which could upset us: Il Corriere della Sera, Oggi and Europeo were very carefully vetted.  We kept our innocence for a long time. The same cannot be said for today’s children who find themselves exposed to the lurid details of life from a far too early an age.

A certain age means that by now we have come to grips with the realities of life as it is and not as we wish it to be. We have come to terms with the fact that it is an unjust world; that being good  is it’s own reward; that the corrupt and self-seeking are more likely to achieve what they want; that cheaters often prosper. (But who wants to be in their shoes? They too will turn into manure.) We know the truth and can face it because, as in the words of the song ‘It really doesn’t matter any more. ’ Aging, too, is about the loss of beauty. To those whose existence depended on nothing else but on their physical attributes; to women who never cultivated inner resources the loss of their looks must be devastating.

The struggle with getting older is not to become disenchanted and cynical; not to collapse into a heap of bitterness and resentment; not to retire to something safe, away from everyone; not to cut all ties with the world and become a recluse. I can feel the hatches of some of those I know coming down. They don’t want to know: “I don’t get pleasure out of anything.  Not food,  not the theatre, not parties. I’d rather stay home.” So remove your makeup, adopt a cat or a dog and spend your days watching television or endless videos and DVDs. I find this so defeatist. On the other hand there are those who have chosen to end their days in this way as they have truly had enough, worked hard, played hard and now like Greta Garbo want to be left alone.

But the greatest of dangers is to close your heart, lock it and throw away the key.  This is so very tempting.  A certain heartlessness appears with middle age anyway. We know too much, see through everything and everyone and care too little. Our enthusiasms are on the wane. Maybe our dreams, at least some of them,  have been shattered and we are disillusioned. We have been through grief and loss and disappointments. We live with a speechless heart. ‘Those who know, don’t say, those who say don’t know.’ Instead of being open we’re closed tight. We are battle-scarred. The one good thing is that we know that nothing, or very little, can hurt us anymore. 

By now we have learnt that everything has a price. One starts learning this gradually. My father would say: ‘Let Dr Azzopardi look down your throat (he used a cold spoon in those days) and then you can have all the sweets you want.’ This was the beginning of similar lessons. It was a dream to have as many sweets as I wanted but first I had to go through the mild torture of submitting to the doctor’s cold spoon down my throat; or to attend some boring Legion of Mary meeting; to take my three sisters to church and make certain they behaved through the uninspiring sermon and did not throw buttons instead of coins during the collection.

Perhaps it’s our thought processes that have to change as we get older. Age is about change, never-ending change. It has to do with attitude, temperament, a manner of seeing new insights for ourselves. At a certain age we are transformed from feeling ourselves swept away or enslaved by every idea or person who raps at our door to become human beings possessed of a deep sense of our own destiny. It’s wonderful not to care two figs what anyone says or thinks of you. To hell with them.

 So how is one going to spend these years if not in front of television and nipping in and our of some church? Some time ago I received a card from Dr Majorie Edwards whose husband Bill was Professor of Chemistry at the University many years ago. She is now in her Eighties or Nineties perhaps. On the card she wrote: “Seek adventure.” That’s the spirit, I said to myself as I read it. One can interpret this in a dozen ways but it basically means don’t allow yourself to fall into a rut. Go on exploring the world and the people in it who interest you. I am not going to put my hatch down, remove my makeup and sit and watch other people live on Cable television. I may drop dead tomorrow which does not worry me as I came to terms with death ages ago. I do not fear it for even death may turn out to be interesting. Is there anything beyond or shall I turn into manure for the vegetables my grandchildren will consume and that will be the end of it all? But if I remain alive I have plenty of plans. I would divulge them to you but the production team is shouting down the telephone. So this is for later.

 In the meantime you may retire from the edges of your seats.