At the approach of every new year, I am not thinking of my new year resolutions or celebrations.
I am busy with the calculation:
My age =new year – year of my birth.
And I am not excited about the glitters and festivities of the new year.
My birthday falls in end of December, so I just postpone the thought involved with this calculation till new year. So I enjoy my birthday but brood on the New Year’s eve.
To make things fall in perspective, I must confess that I am in my 30’s, the abhorred phase of life for the gang of 20’s, which I have quit.
But why do I feel bad about ageing? They say old wine tastes better.
I am worried about the imminent inevitable wrinkles conquering my skin, about losing that boisterous streak of energy.
But leave the surface, the physical appearance, am I not extremely rich in my understanding of myself? I was totally a mystery to myself in those years , I was an unopened gift to myself. It will take a whole lifetime in knowing myself , the most close yet distant person I have encountered. I am still unraveling myself, but now I am a little content in this journey, I have reached a cognizable milestone.
I have charted out my principles. I have started forming a kind of framework for myself. I know what I stand for and what I stand against. I feel much more firm, more sure of myself. I am maturing, establishing myself, trying to come face to face with myself.
Going back a few years, I was worried about my impression on others, about feigning to please a group of unknowns. The acceptance of others was the force that often led me to do or undo. Now I know my substance, I am here with myself. Love me or leave me.
This exhilarating feeling is all a result of my ageing. I have been around for a while, I know my ground. I picture myself 10 years younger, a slimmer, fresher looking version of me, entering a place full of people, maybe some social gathering. I might have looked better than I do today but I was extremely skimpy in my clothes, nervous, not knowing where to look, sometimes pulling my dress, sometimes smoothing my hair, extremely mindful of my walk, my talk. I was naive, desperately hoping to be accepted, to be liked by them. When I looked in the mirror, it was with someone else’s judgemental eyes, not mine.
And here’s me now, toughened by the winds. I carry my whole weight on my feet, my head straight on my shoulders, my gaze straight, not intimidated by anyone. This is me, I weigh this much, my height is just this much, my stature ends at barely 5 ft above the ground, this is the way I dress, I don’t wear heavy makeup, I look like this, but this is me. I would love to know you, but if you think otherwise, I will be glad to be left alone with myself. I don’t need your nod of approval, keep it to yourself. I can look at my self in the mirror with my own eyes and be my own judge.
This rapturous confidence in being myself is the reward of those years gone by. Each passing year leaves me enriched with myself, placid and unstirred by externals .