What Age Gives Back

There’s no shortage of conversation about what happens to women as we age. Mostly, it’s about what we lose. Our faces change. Our bodies change. We may not have quite the same energy. We become less visible in a culture that is still far too interested in youth. I’m not going to pretend none of that is real. It is. But lately, I’ve been thinking about the other side of ageing. Because while some things are being taken away, other things are getting better. Age gives us knowledge and insight that reduces second-guessing ourselves. It also gives us back the time we wasted worrying about whether everyone approved of us. And, perhaps most importantly, it gives us permission. Or maybe we finally realise we never needed permission in the first place. When I was younger, I needed to prove myself in all areas of my life. I had to prove my work was good enough, my business was established enough and I was completely certain about the choices I was making. Of course, that never happened. What happened instead was that I became more comfortable continuing without certainty. I’ve been designing and making jewellery for more than twenty years, and I now know that not every piece I make is going to work. Some pieces come together almost immediately. Others fight me all the way. Some look exciting on the workbench, but when I put them on the body, they simply don’t come alive. When I was younger, I found that very unsettling. I would question the idea, then my judgement, and sometimes myself. Now I understand that this isn’t a failure of the creative process. It is the creative process. If I want to find the next piece that hits the right notes, I simply have to keep making. I have to give myself room to play without expecting every experiment to justify the hours I’ve spent on it. Some pieces will work. Some won’t. That’s all right. The ones that don’t work are still teaching me about line, proportion, movement and material. They’re still taking me somewhere, even if it isn’t where I expected to go. Age has given me more trust in that process. Not complete trust. I still question things. I still change my mind. I still have mornings when the idea I loved the night before suddenly looks completely unconvincing. The difference is that doubt no longer gets the final say. I think that’s one of the freedoms of getting older. You start to recognise which doubts are useful and which are simply old habits. You become less interested in presenting a version of yourself that everyone will understand. And you begin to see what has always been there underneath everything else. For me, it’s curiosity. The need to make. The pleasure of solving a problem with my hands. The way I notice a line in a building, the relationship between two shapes, or the way a material bends and then finds its way back. Those instincts have been with me since I was a little girl taking things apart because I wanted to understand how they worked. I didn’t always recognise them as the foundations of my creative life. But looking back, the thread is so clear. Perhaps getting older isn’t only about becoming someone new. Perhaps it’s also about finally recognising the person you’ve been all along. I think this changes the way I dress, too. When I was younger, I would use clothes and jewellery to try on different versions of myself. There’s something wonderful about that. But as we get older, what we choose can become less about transformation and more about recognition. We know which colours make us feel alive. Which shapes feel right on our bodies. Which pieces have enough personality to say something, while still leaving room for the woman wearing them. We also get better at understanding that admiring something doesn’t mean it belongs to us. Something can be beautiful and still not feel like us. Then something else can be a little bolder than we would normally choose, but the moment we put it on, we recognise ourselves. That’s a very particular kind of confidence. It isn’t about believing you can wear absolutely anything. It’s about knowing what feels truly yours. Age has changed the way I see beauty as well. I’m less interested in beauty as a formula. I’m more interested in presence, character and the signs of a life being lived. A face with history. Hands that show years of making. An old building whose surfaces carry evidence of weather and use. A piece of jewellery that has become familiar through being worn again and again. Time doesn’t only take away. It adds things too. It adds depth, memory, familiarity and meaning. The objects I’m drawn to now aren’t necessarily the newest or the most flawless. They’re the ones with presence. The ones that show the intelligence and care behind their making. The ones that can live with us for long enough to become part of who we are. Perhaps the same is true of people. At 57, I certainly don’t feel finished. If anything, I feel more willing to experiment. I have fewer illusions about being able to control everything, but more faith in my ability to deal with what comes next. I know now that worry isn’t the same as love. Perfection isn’t the same as care. Approval isn’t the same as belonging. And being noticed isn’t the same as being known. I’m still learning all of this. Understanding something doesn’t mean you live it perfectly every day. But that’s another thing age gives us. We meet the same lessons in different forms, over and over, until they slowly become part of us. There are things I miss about being younger. But I wouldn’t exchange the woman I am now for the woman I was then. She had more time ahead of her, but she didn’t yet know what to do with all of it. She was curious, determined and creative, but she gave far too much authority to doubt. She thought every wrong turn might mean she didn’t know what she was doing. I’d like to tell her that the wrong turns are part of the way. That she doesn’t have to wait until she feels completely ready. That some of the most important things she will make will begin as questions. That confidence won’t arrive with a great fanfare. It will come quietly, as she becomes more familiar with her own voice. And that growing older won’t only ask her to let go. It will give her back to herself. What has age given back to you? I’d love to know what has become clearer, freer or more fully yours with time. What has age given back to you? I would love to hear what has become clearer, freer or more fully yours with time.