In an earlier post, I talked about the many lives I've seemed to live, categorizing them by decade. I'm now in my sixth decade, hurling toward the Big 6-0 in a time I've come to characterize as "My Disappearing Act." Now my husband must have some serious love goggles on because he somehow still finds me attractive while I have watched my: • hair thin out • face melt down to my chest • chest melt down toward my middle • middle expand (must be all that other stuff melting onto it) • extremities losing muscle tone • hands wrinkle like the crypt keeper's • veins bug out Sounds horrifying, no? I do my best to keep it all together (owing much of this to the correct underpinnings and some deficit-hiding wardrobe witchcraft) but the truth is, it's hard to keep up with it all. And the world has stopped paying attention anyway. I remember how much I hated catcalls and lopsided attention paid to my physical assets back in my 20s. I still hate all that but it doesn't matter - there's none to hate at this point. Where I couldn't help but notice being noticed back in the day, now I'm virtually invisible. With the exception of older men which is something, I suppose. And I don't think it's all about appearance, really. I feel like as we age, we fade into the background more and more no matter what we look like. And if we don't it's likely because our attempts to recapture our youth have turned out badly. It's kind of a lose-lose situation. As our edges become less sharp, we just naturally blend into everything. With every passing year, it seems, we become the masses. And this is not a new thought - there are books about becoming invisible with age, articles about how it happens in the workplace. Actress Kristin Scott Thomas spoke about it in UK's Daily Mail: "Voicing the fears of so many women of a certain age, she said: ‘I’m not talking about in a private setting, at a dinner party or anything. But when you’re walking down the street, you get bumped into, people slam doors in your face – they just don’t notice you.’" I imagine men might feel the same, if they're the types to notice (or admit) it. What to make of this? I think I'll toss it into the bucket titled "It's what's inside that counts." As our exterior begins to fail us we're almost forced to focus inward. To pay more attention to what we're truly made of, and for. Move aside aversion to plastic surgery, and make room in that bucket for invisible me. We've all got work to do.
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My mother, at 85, has a new mantra: Accept, adjust and adapt. Sure, it's simple. But it comes from a woman who was born between World Wars, lived through the Great Depression, married at 19, gave birth to twins before scheduled C-sections were a thing, survived my 20s and STILL can find a way to make positive changes to her life. If she's got a brand new mantra, I'm all ears. Here's how she describes it.
Accept - In the past few years, my mom has finally accepted she will never be a size 10 again. She will never wear heels, she might even need to walk, at times, with the assistance of a cane. She's coming to accept that her culinary skills, which have been a HUGE part of her identity, might be slipping. We all talk about accepting things, but do we really, really accept our limitations? I'm grappling with accepting that, at 56, working in a small market, I don't have the career choices I once had. It's a hard thing to accept the world is no longer your oyster. I can accept hot flashes; I'm told they won't last forever. But accepting the "forever" things - takes time and patience with yourself. Adjust - How are you going to move forward once you've accepted your limitations? This is a pivotal point in the mantra - the center, the fulcrum. Lean one way and you will sink into the mire of lamenting what was and will never be. You've accepted it but will you move forward in your new direction? In my mom's case it was choosing to clear the closet of anything that no longer, and never would, fit. Pitching the heels to make more room for flats. Laughing when a recipe she used to make to perfection is, today, somehow off. She literally got rid of what she accepted no longer worked in her life. How will I adjust to my own career reality? I have some thoughts, but I have to get the "accept" part down first. Adapt - So, you've made peace with where you are in life, you've chosen to rise to the challenge rather than staying stuck emotionally in the past. According to mom's wisdom, the third leg of the stool is to adapt to your new reality. Adjusting and adapting are similar, but subtly different. Adjusting is about making room in your life for change; adapting is living as a changed being. For mom it's walking directly to the right size rack, marching, albeit more slowly, right past the once-beloved heels, bringing more heat-and-eat meals home from the market. For me, I imagine adjusting my career perspective will lead to more clear direction on how I might spend the last 10 or so years of my working life. And, hopefully, peace. What could you do with the wisdom of a woman who has earned the right to face life with with whatever attitude she chooses but who clearly embraces what each new year brings? Accept. Adjust. Adapt...enjoy. I had my first child at 35. In 1996 that was considered a little late; I had sorority sisters who married right out of college so by the time they were 35, their kids were nearly in junior high. Now, many of my peers are grandparents, posting adorable pictures of newborns, toddlers and even older progeny on Facebook. And I must say, as much as we feel a biological clock tick during our childbearing years, I truly believe there is some sort of clock ticking once you become of age to be a grandparent. I started noticing this some years back, maybe in my early 50s - I'd see babies offering drooly smiles from shopping cart seats and I'd have to curb my instinct to reach out and coochie-coo them right there in the produce section. I didn't want to creep out their parents. But I couldn't help gazing almost lovingly at every baby that wheeled by. So am I ready to be a grandma. Or glamma, mimi, gigi, or whatever people call themselves these days? No way. It's not because I can't wrap my head around being old enough to have grandkids - that ship has sailed. It's because I want my 18- and 21-year-old children to be good at being single first. Then, at being married. Only at that point will I be ready. Not that I really have a say in the matter. But a girl can hope. With any luck I'll still be young enough to be good at it. Last month my husband and I celebrated 25 years of marriage. We took it in stride; because we'd celebrated early with a trip to England, on our actual anniversary, being unusually busy, we food shopped and ate leftovers. But I think I need to pause and process what a big deal this actually is. We started as friends and I think that's the biggest key to our success. In fact, when I finally realized he was "the one" I couldn't believe it. I'd been dating for 13 years and it was a coworker who became a friend and finally ended up being the love of my life when I wasn't even looking. We've had our hardships, but we don't blame or hold grudges. We were business partners for years - that alone could've put us under. We made some great decisions, and some...not so great. When our business had run its course it was hard. Really hard. I know we've done some deep soul searching over it and haven't always aligned on what we might have done differently. But we've both respected that we'd done our best and moved on. As two flawed humans, together - and that applies to everything. We put us first. That doesn't mean we're @*&%#s. Just that, while we exist as individuals, we work best when we consider ourselves as a unit. A family. A singular entity. Decisions have to be weighed against how it will affect us - combined - in the long run. That's where personal sacrifice comes in. But doesn't that usually make each of us better, regardless of our relationship status? I think so. I can't say there's a magic formula to a successful marriage. My mom and dad will celebrate 66 years of matrimony this summer and their relationship looks very different from ours. I can only hope I have a chance to look back 25 years from now and see that my thoughts here still hold water. I'm grateful I've had a partner to help make me a better person. To laugh with and worry about. To grow (older) with. To support through sad times and share joys. I will never know what it's like to go through life with only myself to rely on. I can't imagine the strength it must take. And, I guess, I'm glad I haven't had to. Hope I never will. |
d.a.meek
Young at heart. Archives
December 2017
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