Being fifty plus has its joys.
I am now beyond feeling old. Like Bob Dylan I can kick back, marvel at my repose and sing.
“Ah I was so much older than, I am younger than that now” (from the song “My Back Pages”)
No change can befuddle me. I have crossed the technology and pace-of-life chasm many times overs and still earn a living telling people how to market to the young. Something about my generation’s rebelliousness in the 60’s and early seventies provided us with a reservoir of saviour faire.
An insouciance that celebrates both youth and wisdom while dismissing both as imposters.
“I grow old . . . I grow old . . .
I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled.
Shall I part my hair behind? Do I dare to eat a peach?
I shall wear white flannel trousers, and walk upon the beach.
I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each.
I do not think they will sing to me.”
- Extract from “The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock” by TS Eliot
