I have been wanting to write about this fear of mine, irrational or not, for a long time but refrained because I did not want to offend anybody. But I can’t ignore it any longer. It depresses the shit out of me on bad days. I am just going to come right out and say it:
With all due respect, I think the saying “Life begins at 40″ is a crock of bullshit. It’s like saying the lottery winners are unhappy because now they have the trouble that comes with extreme wealth. Are we not supposed to be admitting to ourselves and the world that aging is scary and depressing? I don’t feel “Rah Rah Yeah Look at me I am a middle-aged woman” at all. I feel like shit, and now I also feel guilty for feeling like shit.
I am watching this aging thing in horror the way I watch a glass vase fall. In s-l-o-w m-o-t-i-o-n. I freeze. Eyes wide open. Wishing I could somehow turn back time to before the moment when the vase was knocked over. There is nothing I can do but to watch the vase hit the ground and break into pieces.
The trailers for “Mirror Mirror” and “Snow White and the Huntsman” reminded me how peculiar it is that in many of these tales, fear of aging drives people to the extremes in order to forestall the inevitable. And inevitable it is. On more and more occasions men would greet me with ”Young lady!”, sometimes with a wink even because they knew they’re doing me a favor. It’s a secret handshake that firmly positions me in the category “women who have past their prime”. I hate this because, yes, it does make my steps lighter and lift my spirit. How pathetic it is that I now live for evidences of the residue of my youth?
Maybe I’d feel better about this whole aging thing if I felt I’d lived a life well-lived. For myself. As myself.
I spent 23 years of my life in school. The kids came. I had lived in a fog ever since. All of a sudden the fog cleared because the kids are old enough to spare me some free time, I opened my eyes and screamed when I looked at myself in the mirror.
What the fuck happened?
I feel cheated. I was put in cryogenic sleep but I did not wake up like Captain America. I demand a do-over! All the unfulfilled promises from my youth make me want to lie on my back and throw a big, giant tantrum.
“But I don’t wanna. NO! You can’t make me! It’s not fair!”
Waving my arms frantically to bat away the minutes. Covering my ears singing “LalalalalaIcan’thearyou” and shielding my eyes from the glaring tick-tock of time.
If I cry hard enough, scream loud enough, someone will relent and let me have my way right?
I noticed a varicose vein on my face today. I’m shell-shocked I guess. Watching Vivien Leigh who was 43 in “My Week with Marilyn” crumble under the frightening prospect of the march of time did not help either.
I hope you could see this as an acceptable excuse for my irrational outburst.
Just don’t call me “Young lady”.
And definitely don’t say “When I grow up, I want to be like you.”
ETA: Came across this cartoon… Yup.
{ 1 trackback }
{ 31 comments… read them below or add one }
It’s funny, I don’t know a single woman who has been this honest. I am turning 30 in a few months and I have some of these same emotions. I can never choose the correct word to describe my angst about hitting this “milestone”. I’m glad to be turning another year older, sure, because consider the alternative. But…really?….30?…already? When did that happen? I know, it’s not 40, and you’d probably like to change places with me. Or maybe not. But I know what you mean. It’s a little scary that time can go by this fast without us really realizing the affect it has.
Nicole, the queen of this life´s last [type]…My skin won’t fit you, so please stop trying to wear it.
I guess I just panicked. I am waiting for the kids to go to college. That’s 10 years. So I am thinking: I have to do 10 more years of this?!
I just try to remind myself it beats the alternative. And then I watch a Helen Mirren movie.
Elly Lou´s last [type]…This Week’s Tweets
Watching Helen Mirren only makes me more depressed because I know it is rare that one ages so gracefully as she does. Thanks for listening to my whining though. xo
I wish I could say I feel differently than you do. I looked at my ass the other day in the mirror and gasped. Advice to all women over 35: Never, never look at your ass. Pretend it is all good. And the thing is, I work hard. Running and yoga and special facial products and all that shit, but it just doesn’t work anymore. Just last week I was at the dermo for facial angiomas. I find grey hairs all over my car. Ugh.
I think we have no choice but to redefine ourselves and then live accordingly. The longer we stay in this rut of wishing we are the people we were fifteen years ago, the more depressed we will become. If you figure out how to do this, let me now.
The Sweetest´s last [type]…Preparing For My Career As a Foley Artist
I know I need to start exercising regularly but Internet is always calling!
The other day I found a black hair sprouting from underneath my chin. Just like my nana had except not as curly. I have started wearing slippers with my housedress while watching Murderer She Wrote because I’m at a complete loss.
Ha ha. Thank you so much sweetie for making me laugh and feel better. xo
I just had a hairdresser exclaim – WOW YOU HAVE A LOT OF WHITES. Unfortunately, my glare in the mirror left her voiceless and she is now a wandering mute. I’m just worried about getting jowls because it seems to run in the family.
I am scared of the appearance of double chin. I saw the sign of it coming out. Oh god.
I feel the same way. Like I turned around and all of a sudden was 37. What the hell have I been doing with my time? And when can I have my jawline back?
Libby´s last [type]…Women Are NOT Stupid
That’s why I love winter when I can wear a scarf around my chin.
Completely the opposite . . . I turned 40 and felt liberated. Maybe it was having a set of twins at 21, but it was a relief turning 40. And when I cut my hair super-short a year ago and realized that the upkeep on the dying-o-the-greys would be quite pricey, I stopped that, too. For me, life began at 40 . . . just a different one than I had before.
Jill´s last [type]…Hungry Like the Wolf
See? This is what I have been telling people: The smart women either had kids when they were really young or when they’re past 40. this way you’ve got your “golden years” (relatively) free for doing “things” (I have no clear idea what they are but THINGS I don’t get to do. I guess) There’s a lot of whining in my post and therefore I appreciate y’all for playing along. I normally don’t whine on my blog. I think. Hm. Now I am not so sure any more…
Just stay out of the sun, honey.
Stay OUT of the sun.
Alexandra´s last [type]…The Grunting You Hear Is A Dead Giveaway
Lol. I will!
Aging has always been terrifying for me. In a way it is helping that I had my kids so late because now is the time that I’m really starting to show my age and I am too friggin’ busy and tired to notice most of the time.
Unknown Mami´s last [type]…Sundays In My City
See? That’s what I said: either have kids late or early!
I had my first and only kid at 40. It was 5 years before I looked in the mirror–you know what having a kid does to a lady person–and I nearly fainted. But then I realized that my kid is really only going to have one mother, no matter how old she might look/feel/be–and I owed it to both of us to get out there and show ‘em how it’s done. There are many days during which I show ‘em how hiding in a darkened bungalow is done, but those days when I go to the library to check out “A Boys Book of Farts” so I can rule the play date, or win the Cartwheel (waaaaay) Over 30 contest at the playground (despite nearly suffocating on my own breasts/chins, gut, etc.), or let the Grade 3 girls braid my loooong grey hair (it’s like something out of Logan’s Run): those are the days that make us both glad that I am as old as I am and not a day younger. Because I wouldn’t have the chutzpah, patience or humor to do any of this when I was young enough to care about appearances and good manners. Rock on, ladies. Aging is what you make of it.
Cartwheels. I knew it! It is important to know cartwheels. You can always wow people with those. *Sigh* Too late for me…
I love your comment. Thank you.
Your honesty is liberating and terrifying. I will turn 65 in May. I could write a book about all this. Oh wait, I’ve already written two. I had a epic meltdown on my 41st birthday, followed the next year by my best friend being diagnosed with breast cancer. Miki died five years later. That was my frying pan over the head moment. I made a committment when she died that I would live for both of us. I would be the best of both of us as I aged. Do I hate what the years are doing to me physically and mentally? Yes. Do I give a shit that I hate it? No. Have the years since 50 been my best? Absolutely. Do I care that what I am writing may make no sense to you? No. But I hope it will in time.
I am very sorry for your loss. Thank you for this comment because yes, everything you said makes perfect sense.I now what I’m feeling is irrational and childish even. However I can’t stop it. What I’m frightened about I think is the sense of freedom being in some dire contrast to the physical deterioration. I sound like such a whiner. Really I know the solution is simple: exercise exercise exercise. also, it will probably help if I try harder on fixing my M.
I just turned 50 last week, and despite working out religiously, my body is shot to hell. It’s a bitch! I love Renee’s comment, however. I wrote last week that I refused to have a midlife crisis–but good God–give me a fucking break!
Hugs,
Kathy
Kathy McCullough´s last [type]…Why Big Blue Madness Means No Basketball for Me
I didn’t think I’d have a midlife crisis, and for a while I was fine. I think the panic escalates when one starts thinking about one’s relationship and its staying power…
I have to say aging is still a mystery to me at 53. Body parts break down and I’m all like “I’ve had great knees and feet my whole life, what gives doc?” They laugh, but you know, I head to the gym and go to the laser place and get the spider veins zapped and bow to the altar that is my hairdresser for keeping grey in it’s rightful place. One thing I *really* feel good about:
I’m wiser and actually more confident. I’ll take a few grey hairs and a wonky knee to have that spirit.
Meg at the Members Lounge´s last [type]…Ten Gallon Meg
I don’t doubt it. The more I think about it, the more of your comments I read, the more I realize there is a deeper, more serious cause for my panic that I am not willing to confront because. It affects other people more than the varicose veins on my face…
Panic?
Panic when you’re getting older and you’re out of work. Panic when you’re getting older and you’re sick or injured or you don’t have health care, or all of the above. Panic when you’re getting older and you have no family. Panic when you’re getting older and your children are having problems and you have no $$, no energy, no one to turn to.
Panic when you feel yourself losing every competitive edge you ever had – if you had any – and the face and body you see in the mirror look nothing like the image you have of yourself in your head. Better yet – if you can even put together such a thought, don’t panic, because it’s this goddamn culture that tells us that aging is a bad thing… and of course we have parts that slow or ache and our age shows, but if we’re still here, if we have families, if we have jobs, if have a roof over our heads, if we have access to health care – then panic is of the sort that plenty would like to have.
Now about that gray hair… Grow it, put on hot lingerie, make love to your husband (or someone you find HOT), and feel how alive you are. Still.
That doesn’t suck too bad, doe it?
BigLittleWolf´s last [type]…An Anchor to Ground Us
Thank you!
Actually, I heard about what is going on in Somali and Congo on NPR yesterday and that kind of stopped any whining I have been doing… Just once in a while, I need to let it out a bit. We are lucky we are bloggers right? or rather, THIS is kind of why I started blogging!
I feel that way too. Geese where did it all go. So much I still need to do..
I’m not worried about aging, but I have *hardcore* episodes, daily, of “I went to school for 23 years, started a couple of careers, had kids, and the fog might not lift for another 20 years” panic. Where is my life? On hold. Where was my life headed? Academic hotshot brilliant world-reknowned. Any chance of that after 40? I guess. But the chances are slimmer and the retirement account is terrifyingly underfunded.
Cute kids? So?
First world problem? So?
Started smart and getting dumber. By 80 I’ll be gelatinous in all manners of speaking.
Don’t care what I look like. Care that I’m idling in park and that function is eating up productive years.
LOVE the cartoon.
Naptimewriting´s last [type]…Very interesting
I understand your frustration. When my youngest hit two, I told my husband that I needed to get a job otherwise I would have murdered someone or killed myself. He heartily agreed – apparently I did not hide well my frustration of being stuck in a rut. Now I have a job that does not really make me wake up every day and say, “I can’t wait to go to work so I can apply myself!” I think my “panic” so to speak has something to do with: Gee, I don’t know when/how I can start all over and do it right. It all boils down to me not having enough guts and other weaknesses. So maybe this “panic” has something to do with how disappointed I am with myself.