I am fifty-seven. Where have the years gone by?
Some mornings I wake up feeling like I did at thirty, but those days are few and far between thanks to my aches and pains. Then I catch sight of myself in the mirror and see the silver in my cropped hair and the lines around my eyes, and I think, When did that happen?
I feel young, and… shocked.
It seems like just yesterday that I was making plans for my future, thinking I had all the time in the world. My life is now more behind me than ahead of me, and that realisation has a way of making you stop in the middle of an everyday day.
Where do all those years go? I often wonder.
Not that I think I have wasted them. I know I didn’t. Life has been beautiful difficult messy ordinary But it all appears to have happened so fast.
I remember when I was young, I couldn’t wait to grow up.
I was desperate to finish school, earn my own money, build a career, start a family, buy a home and be somebody. Every stage of life seemed like a destination I was running to.
Somewhere along the way I forgot to enjoy the ride.
I was always looking at the next thing.
Once I land this job…
When the children are grown up…
Once life slows down a bit…
Someday when I have the time…
Life has a funny way of reminding us that there is always another ‘once’.
There’s always another deadline. Another responsibility. Another problem to be solved.
And before you know it, quietly, twenty years pass.
Now looking back I don’t remember all the achievements. Honestly a few of them have blurred together.
It’s the little things I recall.
I remember when my mother called me to the kitchen because she had prepared my favourite food.
I remember my father’s laugh echoing in the house, but that was long ago. I think of him every day of my life.
I remember rocking my little children until they fell asleep on my shoulder.
I remember long conversations with friends that didn’t get us anywhere, but somehow made it all seem better.
I recall rainy afternoons with the entire family at home, doing nothing in particular. I remember the very late nights with my uncles and aunties doing nothing in particular. I thought they would come back again, It never did.
At the time those moments seemed ordinary.
Now they appear to be treasures.
No one tells you that it’s the ordinary days you’ll miss the most.
I had taken my father’s presence for granted. I thought he would live to see his grandchildren. His love and support will be there for my kids.
I spent so much time in my life worrying.
Worries about money.
On the future.
About whether I was doing the right things.
As for what people thought of me.
Looking back, I wish I’d fretted a little less.
Most of the things I worried about during the night didn’t happen.
The things I didn’t see coming were the ones that really changed my life.
Age has a funny way of shifting priorities. You want to impress people when you are young.
You want to get it. You want to be different.
I’m fifty-seven, so I don’t care as much about being impressive.
I would rather have peace.
I’d rather spend a quiet evening with the people I love than spend it trying to prove something.
I’ve learned that respect is more important than popularity.
Kindness is more important than correctness.
“Don’t let being busy get in the way of being present.
I’ve also learned that people don’t stay forever. So there are people from my daily life who only exist in photographs and memories now.
Some people just split up and went their own ways. The phone numbers are there in the contact list but the finger does not hit the call button.
Sometimes I pick up the phone again and then remember there’s no one to answer.
Grief alters you.
Not all at one time.
It mellows you, bit by bit.
It teaches you that there are no words left unsaid.
To last a little longer.
To forgive a little faster.
None of us knows how many mundane days we have left. We should hug a little longer and forgive a little quicker.
What really surprises me about growing old is
I can’t remember the exact day my children stopped needing me to tuck them in.
I don’t remember the last time my parents held my hand.
I can’t remember the last time we had a family vacation with us all together.
These moments don’t announce themselves. It just lets ’em through.
You only know later that they were the last.
Perhaps that’s why I’m paying more attention now.
To sunsets.
Discussions.
To the taste of morning’s tea.
To the sound of the birds outside my window. Oh yes, in this crowded city, come birds, morning and evening.
These things are the same.
I’ve had.
I don’t think happiness is somewhere in the future anymore.
There it is.
I find it in this cup of tea.”
I love getting a phone call from an old friend.
In listening to someone I love laugh.
In being strong enough to walk out.
Having another ordinary day.
If I could sit next to my younger self I would not give great advice.
I just tell him, “Take it easy. Don’t look around you and try to do the same. Not everything is for all of us.
You don’t need to rush through your life. You don’t have to jump on every opportunity that pulls you away from your loved ones or your peaceful evening tea.
“Your life is the days you consider normal.”
Listen.
Fifty-seven.
I still dream.
I still get things wrong.
I still question if I am doing enough.
But I’m learning something I wish I’d known years ago.
A meaningful life is not about what you achieve.
It is measured by how deeply you love, how honestly you live, and how fully you see the people walking beside you.
So where did the years go?
Perhaps they never disappeared at all.
Perhaps they are here—in the lines of my face, in the tales I tell, in the ones I have loved, in the wisdom I have gained, in the quieter self I have come to embrace.
There is one thing I have learned in these fifty-seven years and it is this:
Life was never in the big moments I kept waiting for.
It was always there, on the mundane days I thought would last forever.
So let us love, learn, grow and enjoy life. This is the moment to seize life with both hands.
