Friday, October 12, 2007

Strange. Boring. Venting.

It’s rare that these old bones have a week when social activity is everything. Mostly all activity is reserved for the weekends with the odd smattering of an evening with colleagues occurring during the week. A couple of weeks ago I had an incredibly busy week. One like I have not had in a while.

Saturday/ Sunday: Assorted engagements, almost all involving food, some involving music. By midnight on Sunday I already need a week to recover from the full-on days and late nights.
Monday: Dinner at new Indian restaurant with colleagues. Amazed at eating genuine Indian, especially my favourite rumali rotis. Roll home stuffed with Galouti kebab, too close to midnight.
Tuesday: Meet old school friend at Tapas bar. Our second meeting in 14 odd years but feel strangely connected. All warm and fuzzy reminiscing but runs well past bedtime.
Wednesday: Dinner at cosy Italian in Holborn with different colleagues. Chatty and stuffed and up too late. Again.
Thursday: Friends round for dinner. Shamefully poorly planned spread but genius conversation. Feel tired but strangely rejuvenated.
Friday: Dinner with friends stands cancelled. Gratefully collapse into bed at 8pm. Exhausted.

Busy but not utterly exciting.

I don’t know when this happened. This drip drip change from YOUNG, VIBRANT being into slow mo old auntie. We used to party/ socialise ALL THE TIME when we lived in India. Work all day and then play all evening. Go to movies, check out restaurants, go dancing, attend parties; with groups of friends or sometimes even on our own. We went out to get ice cream, eat momo’s at Dilli Haat, drive half way to Agra to eat in a dhaaba, eat chaat at Bengali market, attack hot chocolate fudges in Nirula’s, drive back in blinding fog from late night movies. All the things other contemporaries were doing. Whichever way you looked at it we were always busy. Doing something. Going somewhere. Getting scolded on a regular basis by my mum that her house was not a hotel/ launderette.

We don’t do that anymore. The wild skida-adling. Maybe it’s because we were in our twenties. Maybe it’s because we weren’t married. Maybe it’s because we’ve become so fat all we can think about is that next beer and pack of chips and sitting on a sofa. Maybe it’s because we’ve turned into vegetables. Maybe age has dulled our brains and all sensory enjoyment just flits past us. I don’t know but the age ship has definitely sailed.

I’ll be honest. Life is still fun. I love living and working in London. I love that I have found new and lovely friends. I love that we travel a lot. I love that we go out to eat when we want, where we want. I love that we bought a home. That we are always adding to it. But I am in a strange funk where I just constantly worry that I am aging before my time. That this is what I'll have forever more. This elderly-ness feeling. This settled feeling that is great but also dead boring and where all my staidness makes me feel 52 and not 32.

I can’t remember the last time I have felt young and vibrant and interesting. We go out a lot. A LOT. We spend weekends entertaining or being entertained. Or go out for meals to all manner of restaurants. But it’s all grown up stuff and unsurprisingly springs back to food. Every darn time. Dinner at my house darlings. Lunch by the Thames Dearest. Even the busy week above was all about the food. That vein of boring. Nobody ever calls anymore and says “want to go clubbing dudes”, “let’s go to a concert”, “let’s have a picnic in the park”, “’lets drive to Antibes”.

I admit I’m the main culprit of my inanely boring life. Forever throwing dinner parties, calling them soirees and pretending that I’m above it all and way too mature to be doing what the youngsters claim as their domain. I’ve gotten too comfortable with the sitting-on-a-sofa kind of entertainment, hooked to a schedule of Ugly Betty/ Brothers & Sisters/ Men in Trees/ Greys Anatomy. I should be the one taking the lead, booking us into concerts, having picnics, eating at exotic places, dragging V clubbing, organising parties, shying away from the easy sitting-on-a-sofa, cooking-for-an-army option. DOING and not just being. And I don’t mean ‘doing’ as in staggering home blind drunk at 4am, just more ‘feeling excited with life’ kind of stuff. Moving away from an undercurrent that isn’t singing “same ol’, same ol’” all the time.

I don’t know what I want or why I am writing this out. I'm thinking of it as cheap therapy where I am on a chaise longue, teasing out the answers I know but won't admit to without talking it out, reasoning with myself. Realising that I can’t explain this very well. For I am content with what I have and thank my lucky stars for what my life is. I feel blessed in more ways than most people can count. But I am strangely unhappy, exhausted and disappointed with what I have become. Like all my organisation, planning and grown-up-ness has come back to bite me in the behind. A discontent, an aged-ness, that I fear partying will not banish. I fear I’m looking for an excitement that even I, deep down, know doesn’t exist. Like an alternate perfect world, a utopia I'm missing out on. Like always feeling that everyone else’s life is better/ more exciting/ interesting; grass is always greener yada yada yada.

What I do know though, sadly, is this: if I got IT back, whatever the hell IT is, I’d probably kick its scrawny happy ass out of my house before settling into my sofa. There is no therapy for idiots.


  1. This is what happens when you meet people who are born in the eighties. Stay away from 'evil' influences is all I can say..

  2. Sadly, this is a pending feeling, from much before meeting the eighties evil influences. Only just blogged about it because SOMEONE said blog more often. This is what you get.

  3. Anonymous12:16 AM

    you absolutely hit the nail on the head...welcome to my world...however, i have no time to think about this too much...i guess thats why WE have also has to do with meeting with friends from school and start thinking "is this what i thought 40 was going to be like"...40in2006

  4. I can relate completely to your post - I think the previous commenter is right. Most people are busy with diapers and toddlers in their 30s. :-)

    I'm scared of going clubbing - don't you have to put a lot of effort to look good ;-)

  5. . I feel positively grandmotherly now...

  6. I guess life is tough in thirties......:)

  7. Anonymous5:21 AM

    This is why you should go to fun things like Pumpkin carving Halloween
    'nuff said.

  8. Anonymous6:23 AM

    Feel exactly the same. Not that my feeling the same will be of any comfort to you. Perhaps we can moan and complain together and enjoy that.

  9. Anonymous10:20 AM

    How about taking small steps in the direction of the life you want more of? Perhaps that next gathering with friends could be at a club or a stroll along the Thames (I know, I know, but even under grey skies the walk is lovely)... I loved this post, btw - so from the heart and raw...

  10. Anonymous12:02 AM

    You wrote my thoughts!
    I guess for most people kids happen at this stage and that brings along its own brand of excitement. For DINKS like us, we want the thrill of our youthful days but have the energy of a 45 year old now.

  11. Anonymous4:02 AM

    My 20s were my golden years. Now practically in my mid30s, with 3 kids and a husband and with people who do not know my past, i am but a boring wife and mom doing navratri and diwali and taking kids to balvihar. Oh my, what happened to the singleworking days when all we did was hang out with roomies and friends, and wknds where 'were do we all go ?' kinda thing. I think the big thing is getting the right circle of people with all the same masth feelings. I am surrounded by mamis who think nothing but kids and home and buying groceries, and would roll their eyes if i suggested clubbing.. ughhh :)

  12. now imagine being 5 years older and working in an advertising agency where the average age is 25! growing old is taking on another whole new dimension.