I’m turning 40 quite soon. How do I feel about this?
Let me illustrate by telling you about a nightmare I’ve been having: I’m driving a giant truck speeding down a freeway; the brakes don’t work; I can’t slow down; there is a big-rig on fire spinning out of control and about to jackknife into me; oh, and I’m going backwards.
That pretty much sums it up. Thanks, brain.
This morning I had a meeting with a longtime friend client, Cynthia Simon. She said, “How are you?” and I said, “I’m freaking out about turning 40.” Cynthia — who is a beautiful, stunning, radiant post-40 woman herself, laughed and said, “You’re doing fucking great.” I appreciated that — mostly because of the swearing. But, I’m not actually doing that great. I’m doing pretty terribly, if you want the honest truth. I’m kind of losing my mind about it.
I just so happen to be reading By Nightfall by Michael Cunningham, a novel about two self-involved yuppie New Yorkers in their early 40s who constantly refer to themselves as “middle aged.” Really? Middle aged? I asked a few friends of mine this weekend — women about my age or slightly older — whether they think we are in fact “middle aged.” They all basically agreed that we are (as did Wikipedia, fucker). I nodded as if I could handle this information on a cerebral level, but inside, I was quaking with terror and rage at this concept.
In my mind, “middle aged” applies to people who have gray hair (that they don’t, ahem, color), retirement plans, and grandchildren. “Middle aged” does not under any circumstances apply to people who have barely figured their shit out, are single, live paycheck to paycheck, and still remember the sordid moments of their bohemian childhood quite vividly. Yes, my grandmother was technically just a few years older than me when she became a grandmother, but things were different then.
Incidentally, I had a lovely session with another of the intuitive Cynthias in my life —Cynthia Mellon — and she informed me that I have what’s called “renunciant karma.” She explained that in other times and cultures they might have called this “nun karma.” Remember when we were teenagers and endured tragic breakups with our boyfriends and then exclaimed in a tone of abject despair: “That’s it! I’m just going to be a nun!” Ironically, I actually am, apparently, going to be a nun. You win again, 13-year-old Joslyn.
Still, the middle aged thing is not sitting comfortably in my mind.
What does this all mean? I wish I had a nice tidy answer for you. But at the moment, all I have is this recent shoe purchase to tide me over:
Would a middle aged person wear THESE?
I only fell down 4 or 5 times when I tried to wear these today. I’m gonna push through. A homeless dude at the Whole asked me why I was wearing them. I said, for practice. He said, for practice for what? And I said, to be good at it. And he said, kindly, that he would teach me how to play the bass guitar if I need to be good at something.
That really happened.
I’m going through the same thing. We’re the same age and I too feel like I should be further along or altogether some place else at this stage of the journey.
I remind myself that we don’t have to be anyone else’s idea of perfect. I try to get rid of the ‘should’ feelings, be grateful for the good shit in my life and try to enjoy whatever I already do, more passionately. That’s it, I think. We win by being happy.
I also find some comfort that resistance is futile. The weather is what it will be. life is finite. Nature is awesome and we’re lucky to be a part of it. Y’know?
Peace to you, me and all the young-old ladies in Marin.
P.S. Those shoes are smokin’ HOT!
I can relate. Low rise jeans.
After 40 I took a look at my wardrobe and the question of whether I should buy a pair of the at-the-time-trendy low-rise jeans. An online article I had read recently scolded me and the rest of the over 40s for being tacky when “pushing the clothes age barrier.” (See #2, Though shalt not wear low-rise jeans, http://bit.ly/dDZ38)
Low-rise jeans were everywhere at the time, and, unfortunately, too many times far too tight on young women whose bellies spilled over the waist of their pants like dough beginning to rise in the oven. After observing one too many of the dough bellies I couldn’t stand it anymore, threw in my towel and bought a pair. What the heck, my belly was flat!
I later thought I was ridiculous to have considered the scolding about age-appropriate clothing so seriously. 40 is the new 30. I wasn’t wearing the ill-advised clothing to fit into a mold I’d outgrown. Low rise jeans work better on my curvy body than other cuts.
I can only imagine what a lecture I’d get for tromping around in 4 inch red pumps and a bathing suit like I did earlier this month at the Fourth of July parade…at my age!!!! (LATE 40s) lol. Yes, it was indecent of me to dress like a pin-up girl for the float in the parade after a year of being rather sedentary. But the float was for a pin-up girl photography business that aims to encourage women of all ages to celebrate the fantasy of themselves as a pin-up girl. http://on.fb.me/q62zuW I suppose I should have left all the fun and games to the 20 and 30 somethings that were also there in costume, but I didn’t. I had a blast and it inspired me to get back to the gym. We won first place in the parade, incidentally.
Yes, I agree the middle-aged tramp look ain’t the greatest, but there’s nothing worse than a woman who’s given up. Who’s given up expressing her femininity and beauty or however it is that she loves herself. I’ve concluded it’s better to risk being inappropriate in favor of having fun. Live, live, live.
And yes, those shoes are smokin’ hot!
You need to hang out with more “baby boomers”. They actually push middle age back 15 or 20 years.
Try being on the verge of turning 60, and not feeling any different than you did 30 years ago, accept perhaps a little more experienced and a wee bit more wise. (Although, in practice that wisdom often looses out to emotion.)
And you can guess why this is anonymous, can’t you?
I’m 55, work at staying in shape, and HATE current clothing trends. But you know what: I don’t fucking care. I wear what looks pleasing to me and that I’m comfortable in, and that doesn’t include stupid-ass 6-inch platform shoes, which frankly are stupid on 20-year-olds as well. Growing up means THINKING FOR YOURSELF. So if you want to wear those stupid-ass shoes for yourself, go ahead, but don’t do it because you believe doing so won’t make you feel or look middle-aged. ‘Cause you still are, and that’s fine: embrace it!
Ha! I appreciate the sentiment although I actually really like the shoes. I got them because I thought they were neat, not by any means because I’m trying to look younger. We all gotta let our freak flag fly!