Does Life Get Easier With Experience?

I am currently sat here, with a glass of wine in one hand, whilst furiously tapping on my laptop keys with the other, a tad bloated after a Chicken Korma, and I am mulling over this very question. My chillout playlist is playing in the background, and when the sun sets there is a huge possibility candles will be lit. And I find myself pondering, once again,  Does life, and the stuff it can throw at you, get easier, as you add more mileage to your internal clock?
In some ways, I suppose, yes it does. As you get older you find yourself being more honest to yourself about yourself, and you know that deep down, if others dont like it, then they are not worth your time or efforts. In my experience, this has come with age, and it as proved to be a very liberating thing.
 In my younger years I did a lot of, shall we call it, Shape Shifting, to fit in with others, and make them happy. So what is Shape Shifting, you ask? Ok I'll define it. Going to the places you know you hate, but you know your partner loves, especially if you suggest a place you love and they then loudly declare they "Wouldn't be seen dead in there". You then find yourself smiling at them and reassuring them that, yes you are having a good time, and their choice was good, when truth be told you are bored out of your mind and cant wait to go home. Then there is the wearing of the clothes that are not really your style so that you fit in with the ambience of the place you are appropriating (wearing my Led Zep top with denim miniskirt and Doc Martens in a family bar or restaurant, I think not!) I have spent the odd night out, frequenting places that are not my cup of tea, feeling as uncomfortable as anything, especially when heels went in the mix, I have never mastered the art of wearing those. And another shape shifting crime, finding yourself agreeing with your partner that their choice of restaurant is good, because they are fussy about where they eat, and only entertain certain places. Deep down, you know you would be happiest at the curry house with a beer. You gaze at the menu and prey that there will be something you like, and that when you do decide, the overall bill wont equate a mini mortgage and max out your overdraft.
 You may read this and think to yourself, wow what a weak woman! Maybe I was, I cant really say, in all honesty, that it wasnt the case when I was younger. Throughout life I put others first and I sometimes wondered where it got me. But I learned, and in the hard way, that my way of life had to change. So now I accept myself for who I am, and mainly only accept invitations that I want to attend. I wear the clothes that make me happy and my flat is filled with the things I love.
Another thing I have found gets a little easier with age, enjoying your own company, I often treat myself to a night in alone with wine and a movie, and I dont sit there wondering whats going on elsewhere!
So there's the easier stuff, but now lets wade through the stuff that doesnt get easier with time. Break ups, no matter how many you have been through, never get easier do they? Be it a choice that you have made, or a decision that has been inflicted on you, they still kill, they leave scars, shake you up, and make you question yourself and your beliefs.
And the dreaded hangover! I used to be Little Miss Never Get Em! But is that me now? Hell No! I've been known to be out of action for well over a day after a heavy one! Unable to open the curtains, unable to get dressed, barely able to speak! Little Miss Never Get Em has been laid to rest, and I mourn her often.
Right, the finale, here is the dreaded one, Smear Tests! I hate them, I loathe them, they are evil, but unfortunately they are a necessity. I have had the misfortune of the dreaded abnormal result, which has resulted in the even more dreaded colposcopy. Luckily no treatment was needed, but as a result, I now have to be checked every six months. I'd like to think that each time it gets easier, but it doesnt. I still panic. I always get told to relax and have to fight the urge not to scream back at the nurse in question. I still prey I wont fart, and I still find myself wearing my nice knickers so that the nurse wont think I am a scuzz. Maybe when I am in my forties I wont care, who knows, but at the moment it is all still mortifying! And guess what, tomorrow is the dreaded day I have another one of these evil things! I have to return to work after, so i cant have the luxury of downing a glass of wine beforehand. My workfriends have been warned that I may be a bit fragile when I return, and I plan to get home in the eve, run a nice candlelit bath and finish this bottle of wine I opened only awhile back and had one glass of tonight. So I will end this with wishing myself, and anyone else in my boat, good luck, and console myself with the knowledge that us women are the greater sex with what we have to put up with, and as I sit alone, I hold up my glass of wine and say cheers to us all (no doubt sounding like a nutter to my neighbour, but he is male and wouldnt understand anway, so sod him!)