René Roberts

I hate clichés. I personally try not to use them at all. My personal favourite : Everything happens for a reason. I hate that one liner – simply because it almost implies that you’re not in control of what happens to you. Now, I’ll admit that certain things will be out of your control, but for the most part your decisions in life will determine your fate. It’s a simple case of a certain action bringing about a certain consequence. There’s one huge exception though.

Aging.

I heard a colleague mention the fact that life goes downhill once you hit the age of thirty. I think there might be some truth to that and I’ll outline a few facts to prove my point.

Tomorrow morning when you get in the shower do me this favour – look down. What you see is not half as worrying as what you don’t see. At the age of thirty your body turns on you.

What you don’t realise when you’re young is that your body takes notes. Somewhere in your brain there’s a self-righteous little prudish cluster of asshole cells taking notes. Don’t think she doesn’t mind the bottles of Bioplus you consume to stay awake when you’re at Varsity. She’s giving you rope my friend. Did you think she turns a blind eye when you roast her to a crust in the hot South African sun? You might not know how she keeps tabs when you play yo-yo with your weight – starving before every summer holiday and stuffing your face every winter. You don’t think twice before pulling an all-nighter to binge-watch The L Word, but guess who’s scribbling away in her little notebook.

The moment you hit thirty that bitch unleashes her inner demon and wreaks havoc. She strolls around and slaps four centimetres onto your hips, two to each ass cheek and six around your tummy. Then she skips around with her two Pippi-Fucking-Longstocking-ponytails and freckled Miss Piggy nose, slapping your now-wobbly ass. She calls up her good friend Gravity and they devise an evil plan. Suddenly your perky bits angles south – slightly but surely. You used to call them Thelma and Louise, but now they’re more like Rosanne Barr and Melissa McCarthy. Your tummy feels so sorry for them that she decides to be their refuge. They meet up and it’s a match made in heaven. They get married and like any other couple, they chafe against each other at times, but they generally stick together. Until death do us part.

Pippi goes talking shit about you behind your back. She tells your liver that you said he’s fatty. He wipes the sticky barbecue sauce from his lips with the back of his puffy hand and folds his beefy arms across his chest. He’ll show you. All of a sudden two glasses of wine turns you into a cross between Amy Winehouse and Oprah Winfrey – you look like shit and you believe you can make the world a better place. You start by making friends with your biggest enemy. She can’t make out a word of what you’re saying, but she’s too delighted by your emotional embrace to give a shit. Pippi, Gravity and Liver pull up a chair to watch you humiliate yourself.

Elasticity’s been sitting on the side line waiting her turn. She has a bit of a temper. She likes to torture you slowly though. She raps you over the knuckles lightly. She’ll just hand you three tiny little lines around your eyes – for now. She’ll still work – just not so hard anymore. Let those three little lines be a warning every time you look in the mirror. Do not piss Elasticity off. She’s a ruthless bitch and she’ll cut you.

Hormones throw in the towel. They used to be free spirits and a little all over the show, but they’ve let themselves go. They’ve given up and lost the plot. They don’t channel their inner-Hippies anymore. No more free love and Zen and Yin Yan for them. Fuck balance. It’s an illusion. There’s a patch of facial hair on your chin and upper lip celebrating the demise of Hormones. Hormones cannot be bothered – they’ve checked out.

Pigment still feels she has a bone to pick. You spend half an hour outside – you garden now because you’re middle aged – and she slaps a nice brown patch across your forehead. Pigment high-fives Elasticity and takes a bow as you layer your patch with every insanely over-priced cream that professes to know Pigment and Elasticity inside out. The two of them chuckle at you. That’s why they have NO friends.

Your body is turning on you.

There seems to be no mercy.

But the universe takes pity on your sorry ass. There’s an intervention and you walk away with a brand new attitude. There’s a definite change in your thinking and it mostly goes unnoticed – even by yourself.

Your life is suddenly filled with small victories. Every time you can reach your toes to clip your nails is a victory. Every Friday you collapse on the couch without strangling someone is a victory. You do a fist pump when you get the washing done before Eskom cuts you off. You no longer stand in front of your cupboard and pray for Puma shirts or Nike sneakers. You hope and pray that your uniform is ironed. You celebrate the survival of your bonsai – the only thing you’ve managed to keep alive.

Our needs are different. Our desires are different. Our fears are different.

We don’t want to see the Eiffel Tower – we just want to see John Snow alive and well in the next episode of Game of Thrones. We don’t want to be at the opening of a new club – we just want to be horizontal. Anywhere. We don’t need a pair of Levi’s jeans, we’ll settle for any pair that fits perfectly.

Suddenly, you’re making better decisions. The needs of your partner carry a bit more weight than your own and you strive for harmony. You learn to be grateful for the smallest of gestures and you celebrate the silliest of achievements. You take a walk in your mother’s shoes and realise that she really does have superpowers. She singlehandedly managed a household of six and she made it look like child’s play. She’s a selfless warrior and the bravest woman alive. That’s why she deserves fluffy Woolies slippers and every hug you can possibly spare.

Does life go downhill after thirty?

It only feels that way because you made it over the hump of youthfulness. It’s not downhill. It’s a gentle slope and it ultimately leads to freedom.

So, I’ll leave you with a quote by Ani DiFranco instead of a cliché.

If you’re not getting happier as you get older, then you’re messing up!