Thinking about that remarkable age when you could handle it all. What age was that?
I had my first child at 32 and my last at 42. I always said having children later in life kept me young. Chasing after one, two, three, four. Who had time to think about age? There were children to raise, countries to move to, houses to make into homes, and all the unexpected things that came with them.
I look back now and wonder how I managed it all. But I did. We do, don’t we? We rise to whatever life puts before us, sometimes without realizing just how much we’re carrying.
And I still feel that way in many respects. At 69, I’m not particularly interested in slowing down. There are too many things I want to do, places I want to go, ideas I want to explore. I’ll keep going until my body tells me otherwise. And even then, I suspect there will be some negotiating.
I’ve been thinking about this more deeply since finishing theTV show, The Crown. In the final scene, Queen Elizabeth, played by Imelda Staunton, walks through St George’s Chapel, encountering two younger versions of herself, played by Olivia Colman and Claire Foy. It was an extraordinarily moving moment. A lifetime passing before her, and all those versions of herself still present.
It made me think about my own younger selves. The woman of 32, holding her first baby. The woman of 42, holding her fourth. The woman who packed up houses and children and set off for another country, again and again. Each one convinced she was simply getting on with life.
I wonder what they would make of me now.
And what will I make of this version of myself when I look back ten years from now?
Do you think about that too?
