NEWS ALERT: Options and oxygen don’t dry up upon hitting 45. Honestly…it’s all bumpkin.
This month I turned 45; I also signed to the Image board of NotAnother modelling agency. Not bad for an old broad.
And therein lies the rub. If youth were a franchise, it would be a licence to print money; yet the value of growing older is rapidly gaining currency – and, folks, I’m buying shares. In fact, I’m calling shenanigans on the myth that options and oxygen suddenly dry up with each passing decade. My 20-year old self wouldn’t have had a fraction of the confidence I have today; incredibly big hair that could conceal a deadly weapons across border control but not confidence – not a jot. I cared too much about what others thought of me. Silly, silly girl.
That’s the beauty of ageing; the insecurities and validation-seeking propensity of youth dissolve in direct proportion to one’s increasing personal agency. Call it moxie, chutzpah, self-appropriation, whatever; reeling in the years has its advantages.
In the meantime, I intend on enjoying the ride – wherever it brings me.