At 64 years young, must I put up and shut up about my lot in life?

Dear Bel,

As I approach my 64th birthday, the immortal words of The Beatles come to mind: ‘Will you still need me, will you still feed me, when I’m 64.’

My problem is that I don’t feel 64. I feel in my 30s — and my mind just cannot stop pondering about where my life has gone and what could or should have been.

You might think I’m unhappy, but I’m not. I’ve been married for 30 years to a kind man. He’s not that intellectual, but we share the same sense of humour and rarely argue.

We have two wonderful children (one boy, one girl in their late 20s) who’ve left home and are making their way in the world.

They have steady partners, so hopefully I’ll be a grandma one day! I met my husband when I was about their age and ready to settle down. He was the first man I felt I could truly be myself with.

It meant a lot, as I’d met many boys who weren’t right and knocked my confidence. Some might say I ‘settled’ for him, but is that so wrong?

Anyway, I’ve always had a better-paid job than him. We have a nice lifestyle, good home, socialise, take holidays. Though I have many interests he has none, except sport.

We saved well and should be OK financially when we both retire. However, I do worry how life will be for us then.

Over the years I’ve suggested he learn new skills, take courses, expand his mind — but he’s never interested, so I’ve given up.

Recently I’ve wondered: ‘What if?’ How different could life have been?

I just can’t shake these feelings off. I admit feeling slightly resentful that, because of my hard work and savings, everything we have is (in truth) down to me. My husband will benefit, although he did much less.

Could you please help me put my feelings into some sort of perspective? I just don’t know whether I should just put up and shut up and trundle along.

Or maybe break free and start a new life on my own to make up for all the years I feel I should have been doing something else? Would I have the guts, given our children would be heartbroken?

Have I wasted my life? Or am I just living like so many others who settle for what they have and are grateful? I feel so guilty and could never talk to my husband, as he’d feel hurt and humiliated. I truly hope you will guide me through this last quarter of my life.

CYNTHIA

Cynthia, I’m touched you should trust me to be a sort of guiding star, quite appropriate for this time of year. I’ll do my best, but there’ll be no encouragement along the lines of: ‘You must think of what you want.’

I’ve read too much of that on various therapy sites (many American) and grow tired of the underlying narcissism.

Let’s look at the notion that you ‘settled’ (implying second-best) for your husband and marriage.

Online I read this: ‘It’s important to remember that settling in a relationship can have long-term negative consequences, including reduced happiness, emotional distress and stunted personal growth . . . It’s essential to prioritise your wellbeing and happiness in any relationship.’

Another site tells me: ‘Settling is about compromising yourself in a way that makes you unhappy.’

What? Really?

Of course, there may be some truth in the statements, but it worries me that such confident therapist-speak can nurture self-absorption, feed whiny discontentment and do nothing to instil any spirit of realism or resilience. And it is those last two vital qualities that all of us need to cope with our lives.

It’s quite normal to wonder in idle moments — or times of upset — how life might have been different. What if I’d married that first boyfriend? What if the train had been late? What if I hadn’t said that hurtful, stupid thing? What if I’d been brave and taken that job abroad?

In the 1998 film Sliding Doors possibility is enacted, and we see the parallel outcomes for the heroine, played by Gwyneth Paltrow.

S o imagine you’d shacked up with one of those awful boyfriends who might have seemed sexy and exciting but treated you badly. Remember the relief when you met the sweet, ‘kind’ man who finally allowed you to relax and ‘be yourself’.

He ‘saw’ the real you and nurtured your confidence. For 30 years as happy husband and wife, you’ve laughed at the same things, raised stable children, watched them thrive, been contented, grown older together. That man will certainly ‘be sending you a Valentine’ (real or virtual) at 64.

But you wanted to change him. There was a wee voice whispering he wasn’t quite ‘intellectual’ enough and didn’t have enough interests. For years it was fine that he earned less; now, suddenly, it’s bothering you.

Here I lose sympathy. Do we value those we love according to the dosh they bring to the family table? Isn’t marriage supposed to be team work?

Believe in eternal possibility — it’s the only way to live

I happen to be the breadwinner in our household and don’t give a flying fig about that — not when I’m married to the best, kindest, funniest man in the world, who works his socks off to keep our old house standing (‘I could be handy, mending a fuse / When your lights have gone’), grow vegetables (‘Doing the garden, digging the weeds’), feed dogs, support my whole family.

As The Beatles sang: ‘Who could ask for more?’

How wonderful it is to feel settled. As for so-called ‘intellect’, here’s one of my favourite quotations, from the novel The Hours by Michael Cunningham: ‘These days, Clarissa believes, you measure people first by their kindness and their capacity for devotion. You get tired, sometimes, of wit and intellect — everybody’s little displays of genius.’

That’s exactly how I feel.

What’s really going on with you? I’m wondering if you just feel lost at this stage in your life, looking backwards because you’re afraid to look forward.

You find it hard to face up to ageing, but (be honest) you’re not in your 30s, you’re dreaming of being a granny!

This is what I mean by realism. I suggest living in the present is the way forward. But it’s essential to teach yourself how to transform it.

The ideal Christmas dream has transformation at its core. Think about it. A plain green tree transformed by baubles and lights. The simplest presents transformed by paper and ribbon.

Rooms transformed with decorations and cards. Children’s faces transformed by excitement. In imagination, the bleak winter landscape is transformed by snow — and never mind if it never happens.

As a Christian I must add that, in the greatest story ever told, a smelly stable is transformed by angels, the light of a star and the miraculous birth of a holy child.

A committed atheist can suddenly be moved by the sound of children’s voices singing Away In A Manger and, in that instant, be transfigured.

I’m aware that sadly, for many people, none of that rings true. But as long as people somewhere smile and raise a glass to each other in tolerance, kindness and good cheer, that act transforms the ordinary into something special.

Joy and hope are forever at the heart of transformation — yes, even if it’s not your personal experience. Believe in eternal possibility. It’s the only way to live.

None of us can ‘decide’ to change the future. Nor can history be rewritten. What we can do is decide on a different interpretation of the present and that conscious resolve can itself shift your attitude towards the future.

You can hang your head and stay with the gloom of the plain tree, a bare room, a muddy landscape . . . Or you can read my vision of the ideal above — and choose that.

I’d make this your way forward into the coming decade. I’d be glad to have an easy-going, kind man to share life with and plan some fun events next year. Do make a resolution to share things together when you can. Go to a football match with him. Take him with you to a talk at the University of the Third Age.

See afresh his inner glow — as you need him to see yours. Start noting down something you are grateful for every single day. Switch on the fairy lights in your mind.

And finally… Is a panto good for us? Oh, yes it is!

It was a mad and magical evening. For the first time ever we took our four grandchildren to the panto and enjoyed a precious evening of festive family fun.

My son and daughter were there, too, and all of us (me at 77, the youngest five) were merrily yelling at the stage (‘Look behind you!’), booing the Wicked Fairy, and laughing our socks off at jokes so bad they were hilarious.

One or two quips were gloriously non-politically-correct too, which just added to the adults’ delight.

The Theatre Royal Bath was the scene for this wacky Sleeping Beauty. So what if the budget is smaller than lavish pantomimes in Bristol or London and there are no big stars?

As an audience you warm to sheer verve and enthusiasm, wondering how on earth the cast can get up and perform for the second time that day.

Bath audiences have their favourites; for example, for 15 years, actor Jon Monie has played a leading comic role, and as hapless Lester the Jester he didn’t disappoint.

Year after year of panto, generations giggling helplessly, just as we were — and children growing up to understand how stock audience reactions like, ‘Oh yes, you are!’ pass into the collective consciousness.

I sneaked a peek along the line of the eight of us, adoring the expressions on the kids’ faces. The littlest one looked quite dazed at times, mouth slightly open, bemused at being encouraged to shout out and loving the whole spectacle.

This is what’s meant by the expression ‘making memories’, isn’t it? Of we four adults, I’d guess three thought they were only there for the children, and yet ended up having a terrific time for their own sakes. That’s the magic of old-fashioned entertainment.

Don’t we all need to boo the baddies and cheer the Fairy Godmother? Whoever you are, I hope you can conjure up a little Christmas magic this year. It’s there. Look behind you!