Growing old is much better than youth’s anxieties

IWAS interested to read about a recent study that showed the longer you lived the happier you became. So it is official; age brings happiness. It certainly is the case as far as I’m concerned. Youth is full of stressful anxiety and competition. Almost everything we do when we are young is tainted with anxiety.

We strive to achieve good marks at school because our future seems to depend on it.

We struggle to qualify, we fight to win the love of a girl (or boy), we get into serious debt to buy a house and more serious debt to buy that first car.

We have a need to own the latest stuff, always competing subconsciously with our friends, our colleagues, our team-mates or whatever.

We have to dress in a certain way to reflect who we are – cool and casual or sophisticated or successful.

Designer labels are important; the flash of a Rolex watch, the label of a Pringle shirt, the three-pointed star on the bonnet of the car.

It matters a lot what suburb we live in and which shops we buy from.

Your bag of groceries tells whether you can buy the “best” or have to settle for the cheapest (shame).

As we grow older we realise it is all just stuff and none of it really matters.

Your R100 watch tells the time just as accurately as the boss’s R20 000 Patek Philippe.

Your Daihatsu gets you to work just as fast as James’s Mercedes-Benz and your baggy old no-name jeans are probably more comfortable than George’s new Wranglers. I think the most important part of growing older is you stop worrying about what other people think of you. In fact, they seldom do.

You can be honest about the wines you like. Chardonnay may be fashionable, but if you prefer to drink R30 a bottle Late Harvest that is fine, even if your friends raise an eyebrow. You can drink red wine with your fish and white wine with your braai and to hell with the prissy old rules.

The best of all comes with retirement. You begin to realise you can lie in bed until 9am and then slop around in your slippers until noon if you want to, and have a beer and last night’s left-over potato salad for breakfast.

Most importantly, this is the time you start shedding stuff instead of accumulating it. After all, how many coffee pots can you use? Toss out a couple.

The bookshelf is packed with books you have not looked at for 30 years and you know you are not likely to read again. Take them to the local charity shop.

Finally, you can stop worrying about the future. Corrupt politicians? Not my problem. By the time they have sold the country to the highest bidder, I will be comfortably in my coffin.

Healthy diet? Why? If I’m going to die anyway I may as well pork out on doughnuts and beer and leave with a smile on my fat face. Nothing really matters, so you can relax and enjoy it. I love being old.

Last Laugh

I sympathise with Tony Blair and his search for weapons of mass destruction. He looked everywhere for them and could not find them.

I feel like that when I lose my car keys. I search everywhere for them. The difference, of course, is that I know my car keys exist.