Every Grey Hair Is a Badge: Fifteen Life Prompts by Holly Hatam

Every grey hair is a badge. Every wrinkle, a receipt for the life I’ve lived.

— Holly Hatam

This article was inspired by an Instagram post by best-selling children’s book author and illustrator, animator, and self-confessed daydreamer Holly Hatam. Her post challenges us to think about the lives we’ve lived and are living, from the perspective of our later selves. It’s a gentle challenge. As Holly notes, “[...] this isn’t a list of regrets.”

It’s a wish list.
A compass for the rest of my life.
Because I want to be 80 and say: I lived. Fully. Unapologetically.

The post closes with a “before it’s too late” invitation complete with fifteen prompts. “Write or draw the things you don’t want to leave unsaid, undone, or unclaimed and what you’ve been waiting to do, say, or finally make space for.” The prompts align with work I’ve done over the past year or so concerning end of life planning and my thoughts on reaching the age of sixty-four. I knew immediately that I’d take her up on the invitation. Thank you, Holly, for the post and for agreeing to me sharing my response. I hope you find it interesting.

What am I still waiting to say?

As a self-identifying writer and blogger (the t-shirt I’m wearing today proclaims EAT. SLEEP. BLOG. REPEAT.) this first question is both relevant and important. That doesn’t mean it’s easy to answer! In 2022 I explored my approach to blogging in Write without Fear, Edit without Mercy: Eight Questions for the Honest Blogger. Two of the questions concern factors that restrict what I might otherwise wish to explore. The first focuses on subjects I don’t feel qualified or experienced enough to write about.

There are topics I’d like to write about but haven’t yet found a way to approach them as I’d wish to. These include my perspective as a caring friend when someone I know has taken an overdose or harmed themself. I can’t imagine ever writing about abuse, addiction, rape, or trauma. Those are too far beyond my lived experience for me to do them justice.

Since then, I have in fact explored some of these topics. In 2024 I was invited to write an article about supporting a friend who’s survived rape or sexual abuse.

I’m grateful [for the opportunity] to write this post. My first thought was, I don’t know what I could say that would be of value to anyone. A moment’s reflection, however, reminded me that several of my friends are survivors of rape and sexual abuse. How do I know this? Because at some point they told me about it. More significantly, they allowed me into their lives, as they live through the consequences and impact of what happened.

The second obstacle is the fear of offending others.

I would like to be completely honest, open, and genuine in everything I do and write, but honesty means admitting I’m afraid people might not like what I’ve shared, and won’t like me as a result. Who I am — who I really am, with my insights, experience, and wisdom; but also my faults, failings, and hang-ups — is all I have to offer. There are things I’ve chosen not to write about because of that fear.

I continue to struggle with this, although I’ve tested my boundaries in the past year or so by writing about my atheism and certainty there’s no ultimate purpose or meaning to our lives, end of life planning, and my experience of friendship breakups. I was wary of being too open lest I upset or worried the people close to me, but those fears have proven unwarranted so far. I don’t have a specific list of Things I Still Want to Say but I’m encouraged to continue to write as honestly and genuinely as I can.

Who do I want to spend more time with?

I consider myself fortunate in the family and friends I have around me at this time in my life. There are a few people I could wish to spend more time with but I have things pretty well balanced. Perhaps the person I would like to spend more time with is — me.

What’s one thing I’d regret not doing?

I have an almost pathological aversion to regret. What does it even mean? We can’t go back and do things differently. I’m unconvinced we even have free will, in the sense of being able to choose to act other than we do. There are things I’ve done (and not done) which led to pain or disappointment for me and for others. I can — and sometimes do — feel bad about that. Regret, though? I genuinely don’t understand what “I wish I’d done differently” means.

Perhaps I can approach the question differently. What’s one thing you wanted to do but didn’t? Back in my university days I had friends who did a parachute jump for charity. I wasn’t invited but I imagine I’d have declined if they’d asked me. The idea stuck with me nonetheless, deferred until some unspecified time in the future. I dare say I could still do one if I wanted to, but the urge has passed. I’ve zip-wired from the Tyne Bridge twice for charity. That’s my adventurous spirit satisfied.

What have I put off because I thought I had more time?

This question suggests there are things I’ve wanted to do, that are now out of reach because of my age. I can’t think of any. That’s partly because I’ve always struggled with the idea of wanting things. As I wrote in Why Bucket Lists Don’t Work for Me “I’ve never known how to frame goals, targets, or ambitions, preferring to allow life’s path to unfold before me. That’s been true in my personal life and relationships, as well as my career and creative endeavours.” That’s not to say I’m complacent. There’s plenty to be figured out and put in place from an end of life planning perspective.

What’s still worth fighting for?

I find it hard to be positive about the future of humankind. From an evolutionary perspective we seem programmed to look after ourselves first, our tribe second, and everyone else last. This “us and them” mentality may have served the species in the past, but it leaves us unwilling — and perhaps unable — to set personal and tribal priorities aside to address global concerns. Most people I know are fair-minded, generous, and kind. Unfortunately, societies don’t vote in governments that are fair-minded, generous, and kind. They — which is to say we — vote in governments we believe will look after our provincial and immediate needs. That doesn’t mean equality, tolerance, and fair-mindedness aren’t worth fighting for. Indeed, they may be the only things worth fighting for.

What have I been avoiding that needs my attention?

There are a number of household maintenance tasks which I’ve put off over the years, to the point where some are becoming urgent. I’ll continue to avoid them, however, until the last possible moment. I’ll then be surprised at how relatively straightforward they were to address. I will learn nothing from this.

Who do I need to forgive, even if they’ll never say sorry?

I learned early on that grudges are far more trouble than they’re worth. When I was eight or nine years old I made a highly detailed pencil drawing of a deer on a large sheet of paper. I rolled it up carefully and took it into school to show my teacher, only to have a friend grab at it and tear the paper. I was furious at him for what he’d done. I vowed never ever ever to forgive him. My “never ever ever’ lasted maybe three days, before I realised hating him wasn’t worth the mental and emotional energy it took to maintain. All these years later, I feel the same. I can’t think of anyone I need to forgive, and new hurts don’t last very long.

What do I want someone to know, in case I never get the chance?

It’s tempting to run through a list of family and friends, telling them they’re loved in case they don’t know that already. There’s a deeper aspect to the question, though. What do we actually want other people to know about us? It’s a question I’ve explored previously in How Much Do You Want to Know Me? Preparing to Write My Obituary.

I’d like people to know more than 10 percent of Marty but there has to be room for what can only be mourned. What’s lost is as important as what’s preserved. I’m recognising that legacy work is a creative process. I get to be selective, to shine a light on this and that, leaving other parts in the shadows. I see it as curating my life as one might curate an art exhibition or anthology. Not everything will make the final cut. I’d settle for 40 percent. (Ah, but which 40 percent?)

I’ve drafted my obituary since then and intend writing my own eulogy, but the question continues to tax me. It’s not as simple as saying “I love you” to various people. (Or even, as I did recently, “If you read this, I’m sorry. I will always be sorry.”) Curating one’s legacy is, arguably, the work of a lifetime. Maybe it’s enough to live genuinely, trusting that others will know and remember me as they need to.

I asked my friend and fellow blogger Aimee Wilson what she thought of this prompt. She replied immediately on my behalf, “I want Aimee to know she’s a talented and beautiful young woman.” Both of which are true, of course!

What brings me joy that I haven’t made time for?

This isn’t easy for me to answer. I’ve never lived my life in search of joy or happiness, both of which seem fleeting and illusory to me. I’ve explored this several times, including a blog post from 2021 titled Connection, Creativity and Challenge: In Search of My First Best Destiny. “Travel doesn’t do it for me,” I wrote. “So what does? What gives my life meaning and purpose?” Referring back to a Brené Brown seminar Fran and I attended online in 2016, I gave my life values as CONNECTION, CHALLENGE, and CREATIVITY. Those remain valid for me today. I feel most connected, most challenged, most creative, in my friendships and in my writing.

I’m not sure about the “haven’t made time for” part of the question. There are only so many hours in the day, so many days in the year, so many years left in this lifetime, but I feel I’m making decent use of the time I have available to me. There will be a change within the next few years when I retire from full time employment, but I’ve yet to figure out how my life will look after that watershed event. There’ll be “more time” for me to do stuff, but I’m unsure what stuff that will be, or even what I’d like it to be. A colleague told me “You can’t spend all your time in coffee shops doing your writing.” We’ll see about that!

What fear has been holding me back the most?

I’m reminded of the Litany Against Fear in Frank Herber’s fantasy novel Dune.

I must not fear. Fear is the mind-killer. Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration. I will face my fear. I will permit it to pass over me and through me. And when it has gone past I will turn the inner eye to see its path. Where the fear has gone there will be nothing. Only I will remain.

I’ve written elsewhere of my experience of subclinical anxiety. Anxiety isn’t easily dismissed by the kind of mental discipline the Litany advocates, but in any case we’re talking here about something more fundamental. I’ve already mentioned the fear of being misunderstood in relation to what I disclose in my writing. More visceral is the fear of being understood perfectly — and being rejected and hated for it. I’ve explored this creative dilemma in a post inspired by Donald Woods Winnicott’s assertion that “[a]rtists are people driven by the tension between the desire to communicate and the desire to hide.” It’s not a naive fear in these days of online judgement, cancellation, and vilification. It’s one I continue to struggle with.

What is one truth I’ve been afraid to admit?

I’ve questioned myself, as most of us have at some time or another: Is this my life, then? Is this all there is? These questions are easy to dismiss in your teens, in your twenties, even in your thirties. There’s plenty of life ahead of you, or at least it seems that way. Plenty of time to take stock, and change direction if you want to. That’s less easy at sixty-four. An important part of what I’ve been working through in the past couple of years is the recognition that yes, this is my life. That doesn’t mean aspects of it can’t be challenged, developed, or changed, but recognition and acceptance come first. Once the truth of “what really is” has been faced, there is space for clarity. To quote again from Herbert’s Litany Against Fear, “Where the fear has gone there will be nothing. Only I will remain.”

What did I love doing as a child?

I remember very little of my early childhood. A few isolated memories. Visiting Liverpool docks with my father when I was very young. (Do I remember it, or just know it happened from a photograph of the two of us together?) Sitting cross-legged in the playground with my future classmates on my first day at primary school. Winning the class anagram competition at the age of ten or eleven. Playing on the typewriters at my father’s office. Snippets. Moments. But what did I love doing? I remember playing with Lego, Meccano, and model zoo and farm animals. My father made me a wooden fort one Christmas. I had the Captain Scarlet Spectrum Pursuit Vehicle, a James Bond 007 attaché case, and a toy cowboy rifle. (The cowboy rifle was a disappointment. I wanted an assault rifle that fired hand grenades like my friend next door had.) But what did I love?

I spent a lot of time reading and looked forward to the return of the mobile library each week. I can still recall the excitement of climbing the steep stairs into the vehicle, the narrow gangway between the shelves, and the smell of the books. I wrote poetry. Nonsense stuff to begin with that documented the comedic exploits of my friends, shifting to intense and serious verse inspired by my adolescent devotion to several of my female teachers. A friend introduced me to the works of J. R. R. Tolkien. That sparked an interest and delight in his fantasy realm of Middle-earth that lasted many years. I taught myself the Elven runes and Tengwar script, which fed a life-long fascination with alternative and secret writing.

What would I do differently if no one was watching?

I’m not entirely sure what Holly means by this question. She may be hinting at the things we do solely because of social convention, or because we feel (or are told) we “should” do them. I’m not a big fan of the word should! I can’t think how I’d answer it in those terms so I’m going to cheat. (Echoes of James T. Kirk and the Kobayashi Maru training exercise, for any Trekkies out there!)

I’ll reword the prompt as What would I do differently if I was free of commitments and responsibilities? I’m thinking back to when I lived in London in the mid-eighties. I had a job and good friends but I was single and free of most societal and personal commitments and responsibilities. I spent my time creatively, which in those days focused on my journal and poetry, photography, and making cuddly toys, jewellery, and wooden clocks. I took walks. Explored the city on weekends. I wrote letters (real paper and pen letters) to my friends. I fell in love easily and unsuccessfully. I thought and felt a lot, and way too deeply. If I were to be released from my present commitments and responsibilities, I might fall back into some of those old habits, but I’ve grown and changed a lot in the past forty years. At least, I hope so.

What parts of my life feel like they’re on autopilot?

I’ve lived most of my life on autopilot. I’ve tended to coast along, allowing things to happen to me rather than acting on my needs, desires, and wants at the time. As I’ve recounted elsewhere, I once deflected an explicitly romantic advance from someone I liked very much with a kiss on the nose, so confident was I there’d be plenty of other opportunities for us to take things further. It was hesitation on a comedically epic scale and I still cringe at the memory. (Sorry, Jenny, although it may have been a lucky escape on your part!)

I still approach my life that way. It’s not that what happens to me isn’t important, more that what specifically happens (this rather than that, here rather than there) is less important than how I navigate and respond to it. It’s why I don’t have a bucket list. Traveling to distant places or ticking some adventure off a list isn’t going to contribute to my life’s meaning. What does make a difference is being present and focused on what’s actually happening to and around me.

What does “a life true to myself” really mean?

I’ve explored my approach to life in various articles. These include my response to John Strelecky’s 2020 bestseller The Cafe on the Edge of the World: A Story About the Meaning of Life. I found the book interesting for the questions it posed — Why are you here? Do you fear death? Are you fulfilled? — but lacklustre in the solutions it proposes. These centre on the search for a personal PFE (Purpose for Existing). That’s simply not something that works for me. As I wrote in my response to the book, “I no longer believe — if I ever truly did — in an ultimate Purpose for Existing for any of us. The very idea is absurd to me, in the sense of the absurdist philosophy of Albert Camus. [...] The universe exists, and we exist within it, devoid of [absolute] meaning or purpose.”

And yet, I endeavour to live my life with integrity. What does that mean to me? I’ve yet to find a clear answer. As I described a few years ago, “[f]acing up to where and who I am and deciding where I want to go next is the greatest challenge of all, and maybe it’s okay that I don’t have everything worked out yet.”

Over to You

I’m immensely grateful to Holly for the opportunity to take stock of my life at this point in time by answering her life prompts. Here they are again if you’d like to answer them for yourself. Please credit Holly Hatam if you do.

• What am I still waiting to say?
• Who do I want to spend more time with?
• What’s one thing I’d regret not doing?
• What have I put off because I thought I had more time?
• What’s still worth fighting for?
• What have I been avoiding that needs my attention?
• Who do I need to forgive, even if they’ll never say sorry?
• What do I want someone to know, in case I never get the chance?
• What brings me joy that I haven’t made time for?
• What fear has been holding me back the most?
• What is one truth I’ve been afraid to admit?
• What did I love doing as a child?
• What would I do differently if no one was watching?
• What parts of my life feel like they’re on autopilot?
• What does “a life true to myself” really mean?

Holly Hatam
www.hollyhatam.com

 

Photo by Jeff Sheldon at Unsplash.