Portrait of a middle-aged blogger

Time is swift and unapologetic forever dragging me, sometimes willingly, sometimes kicking and screaming into my sixties. But hey, if other legends like Zainab, Zo, Fadela, Raya, Aunty Rieda, Feroza, Erin and Zebbie to name a few can navigate aging with glam, sass, and a kickass attitude, why can’t I? I have decided to approach this next decade with the audacity of a woman who has spent nearly six decades mastering the art of resilience, reinvention, and an utterly inappropriate sense of humor.

Ageing is a curious thing. While my skin keeps reminding me of its ongoing negotiations with gravity, my spirit - Oh, she’s a rebellious teenager, still flirting with possibilities, still craving adventure, still rolling her eyes at the notion of being age appropriate. And my spirit is winning! She conquers doubts and smashes my inhibitions; challenging me to remove everything that doesn't serve me.

As an expat teacher, I have roamed the globe from SA to the UK, to the UAE, and to Brunei and to other destinations in between, some well-known, others off the beaten track, all in search of wisdom and wonder. And what I have found is a wealth of female companionship that has led to titillating conversations, and carefree abandonment, and a vulnerability so easily entrusted to a fellow sista. I can understand why men love women, but why women gravitate toward other women, well that is our little secret! The world has been my classroom, my playground, my therapy session. I have collected passport stamps like badges, each one a testament to my refusal to be boxed in by convention. Yet, there are moments, often in the soft glow of early morning when my joints creak like my favourite old wooden deck chair, when I wonder: When did I become this woman?

In my twenties, I believed I had all the time in the world. My body was lithe, my skin taut, my metabolism a miraculous entity capable of processing an entire pizza at 2 a.m. with zero consequences. I was in peak physical form and yet, ironically, I did very little with it. I spent my youth dreaming of freedom, of grand love affairs, of a life less ordinary. I was waiting (always waiting) for something to take off.

Now, at 59, the irony is delicious: my body requires warm-up stretches just to get out of bed, yet my mind is insatiably hungry, my spirit restless. If youth is wasted on the young, then surely wisdom is wasted on those of us now booking “senior” yoga classes and Googling collagen supplements at 2 a.m.

The universe, of course, has a wicked sense of humor. It gifts you clarity just as your eyesight begins to betray you. It bestows patience just as your hearing decides to filter out anything below a moderate shout. And let’s talk about memory...oh, that fickle beast! I can recall, in vivid detail, the lyrics to every song from the 80s, but I routinely walk into a room and forget why I’m there, or where my glasses are while it perches precariously on the top of my head...

But let’s be clear: I am not lamenting. I am not mourning youth’s departure like some age averse celeb. No, I am strapping on my most comfortable yet stylish walking shoes (because, let’s be real, heels are now for special occasions only), and marching forward with purpose, confidence my collagen, and my wicked sense of humour, my retinol...

I have a plan. A well-thought-out, meticulously crafted plan:

For the body: Movement, movement, movement! Yoga, hiking, maybe even that Kilimanjaro climb I keep flirting with but have yet to commit to. A body in motion stays in motion, and I fully intend to keep moving until the universe itself tells me to sit down.

For the mind: Creativity and curiosity. Writing, photography, self-expression. Learning new things because the day I stop learning is the day I start ... no, don't use the d-word... we still need to change the world!

For the spirit: Connection. Meditation. Travel. Prayer. An unwavering commitment to finding meaning in the madness.

I once thought I needed a bucket list, a carefully curated catalog of things to do before the final curtain call. But the older I get, the more I realize: it’s not about what I do, it’s about who I am becoming.

I want to be a woman who laughs easily and loves deeply.

I want to be someone who listens more than she speaks (though this is still a work in progress).

I want to be a good friend, a present mother, a kind stranger.

I want to be a citizen of the world with a conscience.

I want to be joyful, not in that fleeting, Instagram-filtered way, but in the deeply rooted, unshakable way that comes from truly embracing life as it is.

And as much as this life can hurt, I will be sleeping like a baby, because I choose to forgive and let go...

And above all, I want to love and play and flirt and live a lust-filled life... And I will seek them out, my tribe, my fellow wanderers in this beautiful, chaotic world, and most importantly, I will love the woman in the mirror, wrinkles and all. I will run warm hands over her blossoming curves and cup those gravity-defying breast. And I will wink at her and give her permission to live out her best life till the wheels come off.

Time may be swift and unapologetic, but so am I.

Sorry, not sorry.