The senior journalist

At work today, a colleague asked for my designation to put under a caption and another colleague loudly replied: senior journalist. I could not help but laugh at the sound of it. I have been designated as “senior” for the past decade or so, but today it came across as a reminder that I am in the autumn of my life.

Well, since last year some gentle Indian souls have started offering me their seat on the bus, I guess out of respect for my not-so-venerable age of 51.

I am not the type to worry about age. In many aspects of life I feel younger than I was twenty years ago. In many other aspects nothing much has changed since I was 16. Teenage Kicks by The Undertones remains a sort of anthem.

Of course, back in my younger days I imagined myself ageing gracefully, surrounded by loved ones and respected for my wisdom.  

Now, on most days, I sleep and wake up alone, spend a lot of time talking to and being with myself and, of course, still have loved ones with whom I like to share time.

Perhaps I am still wise, but perhaps a bit cranky too. In a number of situations I get confused about how I am supposed to act, which creates a certain awkwardness even in pretty normal exchanges.  

Funny that this reminder of my biological ageing process came after a sort of awakening from two or three years of emotional numbness.  Fuck! I could have made better use of that time.

I do not want to process, plan and zone everything. I am in between places, in a present carrying a lot of past and a little less future. I want to let my multitudes run amok a bit, simply for the sake of celebrating my presence here.

Let’s see how that goes — and how many pineapple cans I buy before they expire.