Young Again

This week I’ve been returning to thoughts about my age, I’m 36 this year and very happy about this fact. After all, the alternative isn’t much fun. I’ve just dyed my hair a coppery orange colour, which I realised (after I’d done it) looks very similar to the colour that my younger sister dyed her hair, when she was 20. Am I too old for this? I wonder. I begin to worry that my drug induced menopause is sending me through a sort of perpetual mid-life crisis, but my family are keen to point out that I’ve always been a bit bonkers, which is of course meant to reassure me.
It’s a Northern thing, bless them. I’ve started collecting pictures of women in dungarees. They’re very trendy and I love them and want some of my own (dungarees, not women). So comfy, and designed to be paired with Docs or trainers. Perfect for me. I’ve been warned off them, by my family (obviously) and also a friend who warned me of developing the "children’s TV presenter" look. With my orange hair, and dungarees, would I look like a low budget clown? It is possible. I’m going to keep looking though, and I may well end up getting some. I’ll keep you posted. Are there things that you won’t wear because you’re too old? Or young? It amazes me, the barriers that we put up for ourselves, invisible walls to stop us doing things. Too young, or old, or fat, or thin, or clever, or not. I wish we wouldn’t, but I do understand why we like to pigeonhole people, to characterise them. It gives us something to grasp, to link with. It happened to me while I was ill, in a range of ways, and one of them was about my age. I was 31.

Young again

It’s been a while, 

but I am 

Young again.

Not this time, the exhalation of impressed air,

Such prodigious talent in one so 

Young.

But then again, it never was.

This time, the air collapsing inward,

The sucking through teeth, with head to one side

Of oh you poor thing, 

You’re very young,

Aren’t you?

Michelle Holding 2018