My life in three years

What will your life be like in three years?

Fast forward three years, I’m 62. Still fabulous, still confused by my own phone, and still claiming I “don’t need glasses,” while holding the menu at arm’s length as Im blind as a bat.

I’ll start my mornings with good intentions, maybe a stretch, a bit of meditation but probably just stretch while meditating on whether I have the energy to meditate! My Iphone 28 will congratulate me for “standing up” and I’ll take the win.

I imagine I’ll still be trying to tone my arms but mostly lifting cups of tea, occasionally a gin. My gym membership? Probably a donation to the cause of other people’s fitness.

My skincare routine will be elite. I’ll own more serums than friends. My bathroom shelf will look like a science experiment. “This one hydrates, this one plumps, this one… I think is hair gel.”

By then, I’ll have fully embraced comfort fashion, everything stretchy, glittery, and possibly with pockets deep enough for snacks. If it zips or buttons, it’s a no.

Technology will start to defeat me. I’ll be the woman saying “the Wi-Fi’s broken again” while having accidentally put the router in a drawer. And every photo I take will feature my finger in the corner, because I can’t see properly.

But I’ll still have my sense of humour, my cheek, and my ability to turn minor life events into dramatic blog posts. I’ll still be drinking tea like it’s therapy, laughing too loudly, and declaring that “next week, I’m getting fit again.”

So yes, 62-year-old me will be thriving, in a slightly creaky, glitter-sandal, tea-fuelled kind of way. And honestly? I can’t wait.

Or can I?