Dear Diary - Living Pain Free

I've become one of those crazy middle aged people who wants to urge twenty year olds to live their life to the full.

"I was a virgin till I was 22," I whispered at my 18 year old second cousin a few weeks ago, accosting her with information that, not only had she not asked for, but had absolutely nothing to do with the general conversation in progress.  "I'd lose it much younger if I had my turn again!" I hissed, as she backed away.

Why this desire to shove copies of Gather Ye Rosebuds While Ye May into the hands of every young adult I see?

Because I'm dealing with aging for the first time.  And it hurts.

I put make up on the other day - a thick line of liquid eye liner, carefully applied.  A few moments later I turned back to the mirror to see a big fat smudge.  What had gone wrong?  I'd been so careful.

Then I saw it.

My upper lid has a little fold which is now drooping onto my lower eyelid.  It had touched the eye liner and messed it up.

So now there's no point to wearing eye makeup.  I'm not embedding powder into creases, thank you very much.  Fuck that.

Thank God I have full lips.  I'm rocking that shit.

Still, aging is here.  Drooping has begun and, as much as I resolved to age with dignity when I was younger, I am railing against it.

And so I look at younger people and, if I am not utterly convinced that they are making the most of every second, I want to tell them how precious their time is, and that it isn't going to last.

Of course that's a total waste of time.  I didn't get it at that age, and neither will they.  You just have to hope they're having fun and racking up some damn good memories.  

I bought my second cousin a dress.  A stunning, backless number that those of us over forty with under armpit droopage just can't wear.  She looked amazing.  I wanted to take her all over the store and buy her mini skirts and thigh high socks and boob toob tops.

I wanted to pile make up into her lap - neon yello eye shadow, blue eye liner, pink lipstick.

I wanted to sit her down in the coffee shop and explain to her that she should drink and laugh and have sex and look after her body because the more she could delay it's droopy betrayal, the better.

And I wanted to explain to her the beauty, the heaven, the precious gift she had of living pain free.

Yes, you heard me. 

Living pain free.

The TV ads make it sound like it's a revolutionary concept and, I suppose for people who have arthritis or back injuries or some other condition that causes them chronic pain, it is.  But that's not the pain free I'm talking about.

When you're young, you have no emotional scars.  Well, most young people don't.  I wouldn't tell Sandusky's victims this.

But, seriously, most young people haven't had anyone close to them die yet.  They haven't broken up with someone and always wondered if they did the right thing and should have been with that person the rest of their life.  They haven't got to a place in their career where they're wondering if their education provided them the right starting line in the rat race.  

When they watch movies with death scenes, the experience of grief doesn't sneak out of the shadowy recesses of their memories to poke and prod at their hearts again.

When their partner irritates them for the fifth time in one day, they don't wonder about that other guy from 1991.

When annual review time rolls around at the office, they don't stare at the document where they are supposed to "give feedback" on their own performance, wondering if they should have been a lawyer after all.

They live pain free.

And they should know - shouldn't they? - that it's bliss.

Somebody should tell them.

To read more in this series, click here.

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