Today in the Sun Herald/Sunday Age’s Sunday Life magazine, I’m talking ageing and amortality, inspired by this post a couple of months back (and this excellent book by London journalist Catherine Mayer). Here’s a taster:

It is ironic that, as we redefine what is permissible at 30, 50 or even 80, the parameters of what it means to be “young” have grown tighter than ever. Researching perceptions of youth, sex and liberty for my own book, I’ve listened to 23-year-olds bemoaning the passing of their high school days. “Once you hit your 20s, it’s all over,” one told me. A recent UK study found that women start to feel “old” on average at 29 – as much because of self- and socially-imposed deadlines around work and family as imaginary sagging skin. It’s not their age that makes them feel old but their failure to live the life that age represents.

Part of the problem is that youth and age are too often presented as a false dichotomy, with no in between. If you are not young, you are old. You are staying out until 3am, or falling asleep in front of the television; a swinging single on the prowl or lucky to get laid once a week by your long-term partner. You are Lady Gaga or you are Barry Manilow. “There is this sense that only way you can have fun as an older person is to do the same things you enjoyed when you were younger, otherwise you’re kind of staid and boring,” explains Clare Hollowell, a young UK academic studying the relationship between youth and fun.

But growing older doesn’t have to mean growing boring. Catherine Mayer comes from a family of amortals, in the best sense. Her father, in his 80s, is an active diver. Pushed into retirement in her late 60s, her mother bounced into her 70s by starting her own business.