Identity Crisis

The new year has begun, as we knew it would, and once again I am filled with a desire to be better.

A desire, yes. But an action plan on how to achieve this enhanced me – no.

There are many things I’d like to change in order to succeed in this.

I’d like to be less impatient, less judgemental, less grumpy, less selfish. Less of a stress-head.

I want to be more calm, more accepting. More generous, especially with my time. I want to be a morning person, take supplements and “do” my hair. Anything really, to avoid a repeat of today when the Amazon delivery man, who exuded a certain charm, caught me in my trackies, soaked to the skin and with mud in my hair. I can no longer work the “windswept” look. It’s all “baglady”  chic these days.

In fact, I don’t need a new year to start a self-improvement mission. Anything can trigger one. I meet up with acquaintances and take inspiration from them – try to emulate their positive traits. I encounter an exciting person and try to pinpoint what makes them so, then try it for myself. I can read a book, watch a film, then feel the need to take something from the experience and improve as a result. But so far it doesn’t seem to be working…

There’s the novel still unwritten, the blogs that are far too irregular, the photos yet to sort, the dream job still to find… I am still without a six pack, and the sit-up machine is purely decorative. I am still a stress-head and the list of Things I’ve Lost is getting longer.

It’s all so flipping negative.

This is not a new thing for me – I know it’s common for a lot of us. I’ve been writing diaries for over forty years, and the general theme of them is where I went wrong, who I have upset, and how I plan to move forward. Great sweeping statements litter the pages of my past life – what I will do, how I will do it: conviction, determination and a lot of verbal self-flagellation.

These days, though, it seems that all of our insecurities and secret desires are public. You have a thought about getting fitter and the next thing you know, there is a video on your phone of a perky young lady in snazzy gym gear, effortlessly and happily working her way through a series of exercises that are “guaranteed” to have you desirable in 30 days time, if you click the link below. There are ads for supplements that will make you younger, designer cleaning oils that will make your house smell like an hotel, washing liquid that promises to leave your clothes wafting upmarket gusts as you move, face brushes that can drain your fine lines away and endless make-up and nail options you need in order to feel valid. I am slightly ashamed to admit that I have succumbed to all of the above at some point in the last few months.

It is only writing this blog that I now realise I have been manipulated! My insecurities, and the internet, have cost me dear.

So, why is this?

Clever advertising is partly to blame, definitely. I consider myself quite savvy, and rest assured – all that I have purchased will have been on a super duper intro’ deal, which I have probably since unsubscribed from. But it’s indicative of a need that I must surely share with a lot of people – the need to be better, to smell better, to clean better, to be fitter and younger-looking. It is the curse of society,

I am at a weird age. It’s the weirdest age, I think. I don’t feel old, but I know I’m not young. I don’t really know what I am. Until recently, I would always refuse to acknowledge or give in to age-related aches and pains, eyesight issues and sagginess. Not through vanity really, but more a refusal to accept that my time may be running out. Maybe there is a teeny bit of vanity in there, too… but essentially it’s a sense that I must hurry up and achieve something. Anything! Before I die!

I find I spend a lot of time thinking about how I feel about being a fully grown adult, that I am working myself into a bit of a state. I should perhaps feel accomplished and worldly. Instead, I sometimes think I am regressing into a child-like mindset, where the ultra-vigilance I had when I was wrangling four young kids has been replaced by a latent state of omnipresent, powerless anxiety, now that one “child” is living in a city, and another is driving. There is no way I would rather have it – my kids are growing up and that is wonderful. It’s just that, when I was Mummy, that was my purpose. The self-discovery and achievements could come later. And here we are.. later.

On the way to the gym the other day (another whim to avoid the onset of decrepitude) Little Seymour mentioned middle age. I cant recall exactly why. But this prompted from my mouth a speech of sorts, whereby I declared that from here on in, I would be identifying as ageless. I am, I decided, both young and old, wise and immature. Not for me are the constraints set by belonging to a certain demographic, oh no. What is age? Does it define us? No. Does it even matter? Not really. Or does it..?

Once again, I am on the fence with this. Should I give in and just let age take me? Or should I make more effort so that I don’t frighten any more Amazon drivers? I know that I must count my blessings – and I do. I have a lot to be thankful for. But I am aware that this age – 49 – is a big one. When Walter White of Breaking Bad fame turned fifty, he started to cook meth. He was a school teacher who needed a side hustle…

I think that’s where the similarity ends. For a start, I am shit at chemistry. But I do know that I need to make changes, put some effort in and find myself a new direction. It’s not enough to sit back and say I did the wrong A Levels.  Even now, I need to find my calling in this world. Or accept that maybe, just living is possibly enough.

So, 2026, my fiftieth year on the planet, has begun. I am filled with both dread and excitement at all that it could bring. Dark winter mornings and cold bedrooms have rather an unsettling effect on many people, myself included, and the level of overwhelm is bubbling. (It is at times like this when I marvel at Big Seymour who seems almost impervious to winter. He just keeps on going. Machine-like. Stoic. Quite impressive, actually).

Writing this post has actually been quite useful, even if it’s not my most scintillating piece ever, because I have realised several things:

1. I need to stop looking at adverts on my phone
2. I am thinking about thinking far too much
3.  I am -sadly- a procrastinator

Now to put the excuses away and get on with 2026. Because cold, dark, muddy and miserable it may be, but there are many causes for celebration, in particular that we have two more minutes of daylight today than we did yesterday! Cheers to that.

But before I crack on, I think it’s time for a cuppa.

(… and here comes ChatGPT, just to confuse me further. It must be said that this is only a very faint likeness to my own photo, but it can make a person hanker for one’s youth!)