In the Middle Ages, the average life expectancy was 55.
By now, as a 52-year-old, I would be getting my affairs in order and gloomily contemplating imminent demise by plague, sweating sickness or the charmingly named Scrofula.
“But hold up, Jeremy,” I hear you cry. “This isn’t the Middle Ages and you still have many years ahead of you.”
Yes I know. And that, right there, is the problem.
You see, according to Google, my life expectancy is now 83.79 years. That’s a whopping 30+ more years.
And whilst, I am of course overjoyed that 2025 probably won’t be my last year on the planet, I am at the same time, a tad anxious at how I am supposed to fund this sizeable stint of overtime.
You see, If I’m going to live longer, I need to work longer. Yes, I’m as thrilled by that prospect as you are.
But in order for that to happen, I need to somehow remind younger employers that I have something to offer and can be more than just a drain on the country’s medical services.
For the last 5 years or so, I’ve clung tenaciously to the vestiges of my youth. Despite an ever-thickening waistline, I continue to dress defiantly in tee-shirts, jeans and sneakers, I have dabbled in Botox, and been prettily coy and vague with dates on my CV.
But now, as I gaze at my unedifying profile, with its fascinating array of wrinkles and gently sagging flesh, I am forced to concede that the day of reckoning has finally arrived.
As much as it pains me to admit it, I can no longer pass as early 40s. I’m 52, look 57 and feel 74.
You see, having played sport almost continuously since I was young, my body is a crumbling and pain-ridden ruin. Metal disc, broken bones, constant aches and scars a plenty.
In short, physically, I am a spent force.
Mercifully, however, my mind remains unimpaired. In fact, as far as I can tell, it’s functioning better than ever. Perhaps because I didn’t do too much thinking as a younger man. (A common trait in the very young.)
I still regularly come up with bright ideas, ripe strategies, engaging copy and insightful content. And, of course, it goes without saying, I have a wealth of experience. Although, alas, no experience of wealth. Perhaps because I price myself at such a very moderate and affordable rate.
So, in an era where ageism is unfortunately rife, why not buck the trend and give an old, or older creative a go? There are heaps of us out there and many of those still have sizeable brain capacities, despite having lived through, (and enthusiastically participated in,) the debauched epoch that was 90s adland.
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