True Confessions

So, yes I did watch "Master chef" last evening and sit around a bit, but I did make a start on the studio. O.k., I carried some things that had somehow got parked on the stairs up into the room itself and put them amongst the other things that are waiting to be sorted. Scrub around the fact that some new bits and pieces got parked behind the door at the foot of the same stairs this morning. I had a two year old and his mum coming to play with me, and sketch books and craft knives and painting gear needed to be shifted so that we could relax together.
I've been wondering whether to admit that the two year old is my great grandson, and his mum is my grandaughter, but thought better of it in case you should think I'm incredibly OLD. Then I thought better of that, because a blog should surely be warts and all. There, now you'll think I'm warty as Oliver Cromwell AND old! In fact of course I am neither of these. The days when we sat around looking like Whistler's Mother once we pass forty are long gone. Sadly I must confess the days when I passed forty are also long gone, but in my heart I'm very young indeed.
The strange thing is that the older I get the younger I feel inside. It's true that the machinery isn't quite as efficient as it once was, but I bless the dis-inhibition that comes with aging. Put another way, ( to quote Rhett Butler in "Gone With the Wind") increasingly "Frankly, my dear I don't give a damn".
This isn't to say that I'm giving up on any values I've held, or that I've become un-caring. Quite tthe reverse I think, though one does becomes much more open and less judgemental. What it does mean is that I certainly find it easier to live more closely to the truth of who I really am, without the fear of rejection or failure that held me captive for so long.
So hang on in there. It's worth waiting for.