Maxine Jones: 'People have started apologising when they swear in front of me'

In March I’ll turn 60. I’m a bit bothered by this but mostly bewildered. One minute I’m worried about turning 40 then suddenly, whoosh, I’m here – 60.

I think that’s partly because time speeds up as you get older, a fact strangely left out of Einstein’s Theory of Relativity. To me it seems like bin day every day. And my new coat I’ve had for 23 years.

It also seems to go quicker cos I’m telling people I’m 60 already. Partly to get used to the idea, but I don’t. And partly so people will say oh you don’t look it, but they don’t.

And when I go to write the date I go to write 1980-something. Because that was the last time I regularly wrote the date, for writing cheques. Do you remember writing cheques? Do you remember writing?

And another thing that’s started to happen – people now apologise if they swear in front of me. I don’t know what the exact cut-off points are, but there’s obviously only a certain time, in the middle of your life, where you’re deemed capable of hearing swear words.

Five years ago I branched out from journalism into stand-up comedy. I’m currently compiling material for this year’s Edinburgh show, called Now We Are Sixty, but on a more serious level, I’m aware of a profound shift in my thinking as I come into the home strait of my life.

For much of the past 20-odd years I have been engrossed in worry and fear - about my three sons and about money, mostly. The dust has cleared and now I am entering a new land with no signposts.

What now? I have started navel-gazing, a derisory activity and a standard joke in the West.

Yet the navel is recognised by cultures and philosophies elsewhere as the source of the soul and the centre of all life energy. It is literally at the centre of the body and from here 72,864 nerves spread all over the body (thank you Google).

The primeval link between mother and child, the navel develops first, then the heart, then the brain. In Western tradition, the head and the heart have taken precedence over the navel, leading many of us towards meditation as an escape from the ‘madness’ of the brain. Meditation practice leads downwards – from the brain to the heart, and from the heart to the navel.

Most of us in the West breathe from our chest but at night our breathing starts coming from the navel. The stomach, rather than the chest, moves up and down, as with babies and small children, who are still very close to the navel. Only as we grow older do we lose this connection.

Yet in times of accident or emergency the first impact will not be on the brain or the heart but the navel. We feel a stab in our stomachs.

Meditators focus on fearlessness, as a way of strengthening the navel centre, of feeling more in touch with their essence, more alive.

Fear is something intrinsically associated with ageing, infirmity and death. So as I enter my 60s and focus on my navel, this is the fear I am fighting.

In the past few years I have started taking yoga and meditation seriously and practising regularly. I no longer see it as faintly ridiculous and hippy-dippy. My practice will, I hope, increase my life force, strengthening my bones and my psyche.

And I haven’t stopped there. I have taken up running, first by joining in a local parkrun and then joining a running club. The club has led to meeting new people. My work as a freelance writer and stand-up comic is solitary. As we age we are likely to become increasingly isolated so the running club has been a proactive step – as well as having physical and mental benefits. This Sunday I’ll be donning the club vest and a pair of spikes and taking part in the Dublin Masters Cross Country Race.

I am not overly concerned about looking old. Thankfully media attitudes have changed and images of women without make-up - and even old women – are no longer rare. Old women are less likely to be hidden away, and I don’t intend to be. I regularly take the stage in comedy clubs where the bill is otherwise filled with men in their 30s. I refuse to feel cowed.

It’s like being a teenager again without the hang-ups. I am a living embodiment of ‘If only I knew then what I know now.’

Increased self-awareness through the navel-gazing, physical health through yoga and running, and lack of fear – that’s all it takes.

Sixty is an age when I could look back in regret, thinking: I never fulfilled my potential, I never wrote that bestseller, that hit sitcom; I never got the praise or acknowledgement I deserved. Instead, I’m thinking, best get back to work on achieving those things.

At the same time I don’t fear failure, am not too attached to success, and am enjoying each minute. Ohmmm.

This piece was performed as part of the Nollaig na Mban Women’s Podcast.

Maxine Jones’s stand up show ’Now We Are 60’ is at Other Place Brighton, Thursday 4 Feb, 8pm, Leicester Comedy Festival, Grays@LCBDepot and Saturday 6th Feb 5pm Dolmen Theatre Dublin

[ @maxinejonescom ]