Im 67 years old. My whole life has revolved around routine. I worked for 42 years at a bankthe same desk, the same chair. Now Im retired. I never married. I dont have children. I still live alone, in the very same flat I began renting when I was 28.
People always used to ask me:
So, when are you going to settle down?
Dont you ever feel lonely?
What will you do when you get older?
My answers were always the same:
One day, when I find the right person.
When Ive got a bit more time.
When Ive saved a bit more money.
When
Always when.
When I retired, I told myself: now Ill travel, now Ill learn something new, now Ill finally live. But the days slipped by exactly as before: wake up, breakfast, news, the paper, a trip to Sainsburys, home again, television, bed.
Three months ago, I had a bit of a scare with my health. Nothing serious, thank goodness, but my doctor said, Youre fine, but you are 67. Take care of yourself, get out a bit more, move around.
Go out where, exactly? With whom?
Last week, I was walking past the park near my flat. Id never actually gone insidealways just hurried by. I spotted a man, about my age, painting at an easel. I wandered over for a closer look.
He was painting the trees, the little pond, the ducks. It wasnt perfect, but there was something very lovely about it.
Do you like it? he asked, not turning.
Yes, you paint rather well, I replied.
He gave a laugh, saying, Not really! Ive only been learning for a year. But I enjoy it. It makes me happy.
You started painting in your sixties? I asked, surprised.
At 68, he smiled. Id spent my whole life saying I wished I could paint. Then one day I realised: why not just start now? Ive already lost 68 years to one day. Im not going to lose what Ive got left.
I thought about that all week.
Yesterday, I looked at myself in the mirror. A man of 67, whos spent forty years waiting for life to begin. Waiting for the perfect moment, for company, for Im not even sure what.
Yesterday, I walked into a music shop and bought myself a guitar. Ive always wanted to play. Always put it off for one day.
I also signed up for Italian lessons. Ive always dreamed of going to Italy, but always thought, Whats the point of going on my own?
And I booked myself a flight to Rome. Four months from now. Just me. And thats perfectly all right.
This afternoon, I spent an hour practising the guitar. I sound dreadful. My fingers dont know what theyre doing. But I laughed, right there by myself in my little flat, at the racket I was making.
And I realised something: for 67 years I waited for someone elses permission, or for perfect circumstances, before I started living. I waited for the right partner, the ideal timing, the right situation.
But no one is going to give me that permission. No one is going to knock at my door and say, Now you can be happy.
Im 67. I might have 10 years left, maybe 20, maybe less. But I am going to live those years. Ill play guitar badly. My Italian will be hopeless. Ill paint dreadful pictures. Ill travel aloneand probably get lost.
And do you know what? It will be wonderful.
Because at the end of my life, I dont want my memories to be of all the things I didnt do, just because I was waiting for the perfect time. I want to remember that I tried. That I lived. That I was happy, in my own way.
You dont need company to start living. You dont need to be young. You dont have to be good at something to enjoy it.
You just need to decide that today is the day.
