The general consensus is that life in the middle ages was pretty awful. Take away the literary glitter of movies and epic fantasy and the picture is generally regarded as pretty bleak and short-lived.
So it could also be said how some people consider living in their middle ages. Whether the view from the young (“gosh, that’s old!”) or those about to enter it (“tail end of life”), middle age has a stigma to it, often the ringing of the bells that toll for thee.
I find, in my moments of reflective review, that middle age is, at least in my circumstances, freedom.
I have the ability and, more importantly, the time to go anywhere I want. Sure, anywhere I want is not as thrilling without someone as a partner in crime, but even I, Hermit of the South, have seen adventures beyond those of mortal men…or at least most working ones.
I have the opportunity to be with anyone I want, be it woman, man or farm animal. Sure, farm animals limit my evening dining choices to mostly at home, but I’m mostly at home anyway, so outside of the smell and the food choices, they’re on the table too. (Sorry, fuzzy, bad choice of words).
I have the capacity to enjoy the middle ages in any size or shape I choose. So, though I would prefer to lose those last 6 pounds and tighten and tone here and there, I can also say, “Hey, I’m in my 50’s…who’s gonna care?”
Occasionally, I dabble in “corrective surgery” on some part of my middle-aged life. Such was the Great North American Baseball Road Trip for travel. Such was the toe in the water on finding a compatible (non farm animal) companion just recently (ah, a post still in the making). Such are my current walking/exercising/eating attempts these days.
It keeps my life challenging. It keeps my life interesting. And it keeps me thinking that living in the middle ages isn’t all that bad after all.