5 Things I love About Getting Older

It's inevitable, especially when you're into your forties. Another birthday rolls by and you start to dwell on your advancing age. But there are so many things to love about getting older - really, there are...

1. Appearance

I can walk around, holding my dog, in a jumper that has a large photo of my dog on it, and not give a fig. I used to think doing up my laces was embarrassing. I'd spend hours lacing my trainers ‘the cool way’ and now I wear a bum bag for practicality and I feel excellent about it.

2. Early Nights

It’s no longer weird to want to be in bed by 9.30pm. In my twenties and thirties, people mocked me. Now I am in my forties no one blinks an eye when I start yawning at 9 o'clock, mainly because they're all yawning too. Going to bed with my dogs is the best bit of my day. By 8pm I’m twitching to get in the bath. I can hear my pillowcases calling me, my bedside book of crosswords rustling its pages. Heaven!

3. I Know Myself

There is always room for self-improvement of course and I can tinker with small parts, but I’m more or less as evolved as I’m going to get. I can stop trying to like fancy foods (truffle oil, Sriracha, avocado - bleurgh) or windy walks or techno music. My name is Ericka Mary Waller and I don’t know my times tables. I think North is always up, I can’t pronounce the name Penelope (surely it is penny-lope?) and I wet myself a bit at loud noises. I don’t understand inflation. I always forget that when I ‘win’ something on eBay it doesn’t include shipping. I love jigsaws and fruit cake and very big comfortable pants and I think Graceland by Paul Simon is one of the best albums of all time.

4. I don’t mind people not liking me...

...or the things I like. I am not everyone’s cup of tea, and that’s okay. I have a small group of hardcore fans (mostly made up of canines) who make me feel loved and accepted. I’d rather read a good book than spend time with people who don’t get me.

5. Being Thankful

I’ve realised that getting older is a privilege. I am morphing into the invisible woman now I am in my forties. I am sliding off the radar, middle-aged and thickening round the middle. My skin is losing its grip on my thighs and my chin is starting to melt into my neck. And that’s okay. I’m not going to fight it anymore. I could calorie count, buy expensive creams and do Pilates, but I choose to eat the cheese on toast and slices of cake instead.