I am officially middle-aged. Well, actually, I think if I dust off the old nursing textbooks, medically speaking, 35 is middle-aged, but I've turned 40 this week, and that's middle-aged in most people's minds. It didn't seem too much of a drama until friends kept asking me if I was OK about it? Well, I thought I was, and I still think I am, but when you're asked often for your thoughts on hitting another decade, you're forced to wonder what you do think. The short answer is that I don't have time to think too much about it. In fact, that was the guts of my wee speech to a small gathering of family and friends. The previous week at a friend's 50th, she said she had only one word to say about being 50 and that was ''clarity''. With that stylish answer ringing in my head I couldn't confine myself to just one word to describe 40. Forty to me is a jumble of things and, looking back, I imagine it will be a bit of a blur. Forme, at least (and I'm sure I'm not alone), it's about investing time and energy in family, a few close mates and a career, juggling everything with the intention of nurturing them all to be in the very best shape and, as I (half) joked, having no time for me in there, as there's none left! While some people would say that sounds alarm bells about no self nurture, or whatever the mumbo jumbo lingo is, now that I'm forced to think about it, maybe that's not so bad. That's just how it is, and perhaps how it should be in the middle stages of our lives. Ours is the ''sandwich'' generation: looking out for our young children and our ageing parents at either end of the spectrum, and forging our own way, figuring out our reason for being, as we live our lives as the meat in the sandwich. My life, at 40, is what I make it. My daily experiences shape who I am and also make me ask what sort of person I am evolving into as I age. The person I am at 40 is the one who wants to do this. As a priority I want to be really involved in my kids' lives and get to know their mates (without being the embarrassing mother in the teen years). I want to have a career in an area that I love and find challenging at times, I want to finish the house (in other words, I want to win Lotto), I want a nice garden (to sit and read a book in over summer), I want the domestic front to be well organised and happy, I want to laugh long and hard with good mates over a few wines, I want to keep spending time with my parents and enjoying their company. In short, I want to have it all and do it well, so that in 10 years' time at 50 I have clarity. I can look back without regrets and be satisfied knowing that the past decade, although hugely busy, did achieve something ? well-adjusted young adults, satisfying relationships with the significant people in my life who will see me into my twilight years, and a career that has made a difference somewhere to someone apart from myself. Thirty seems not so long ago, neither does 20. I appreciate more things at 40 than I did 10 years ago, and certainly more than I did at me-me-me 20. People matter to me more than they used to. I worry more about the state of the world than I used to, or the country, community, school or the family. However, I don't worry about my appearance anymore. Forty hasn't got me suddenly lining up for appearance medicine. My ageing was drawn to my attention recently when my son told me there were stripes on my face. I wondered if I'd got some of my 3-year-old's felt pens on my face, but when I asked him where they were and licked my finger to remove them, he said they were still there. So I had to resort to a mirror. You got it?he was pointing to the grooves between my eyebrows. But hey, I've earned those stripes.
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