Eight days until the mother of all birthdays. In eight days I can no longer delude myself and think I’m young or even really middle aged.
Women talk about their 40’s as if it’s ancient, and I have no idea what they’re talking about.
When I look at pictures of myself I see that sweet glow of youth; the “perfect” features people made such a big deal about. The body that was always on a diet—even when it was much better than OK. The teeth I ruined because I wanted great ones.
Yet I enjoyed myself. I went to grad school. It was too easy so I made each paper a mite more difficult than it was supposed to be.
My research professor, the one most people hated, because he had the nerve to fail people and a “B” was a good grade in his classes was the only professor to call me on that.
“You’re going to get an “A,” so why are you going so far?”
Because I could. Because I felt like the six year old who would get up to read an old outdated “Book of Knowledge,” every single volume.
At six I thought if I read all the volumes I would know everything there was to know. By eight I realized no encyclopedia could teach me everything. And reading a 1918 set was like reading history. I love history so I continued.
At 44, I still felt fresh and excited by life’s opportunities. A woman I worked with once said: “you only have a few years before men find you invisible. No matter what you look or act like.”
Her words stung like ten jellyfishes all attacking my feet at once. But really I just wanted to learn as much as I could, contribute to the world, and have fun. Oh yeah—solve world peace. Not really. I always knew if I left my mark on one little corner of the world I would have done something worthy.
At 51 I began an entirely new career. I love writing, and I was given a great opportunity to write for a new paper that was actually excellent even in its infancy.
One day I was watching a documentary, and realized I could interview the people in the movie, and do something worthy so I did. My stories were multi-award nominated; made it in the finals of some very prestigious awards.
I was a rookie with a lot of research, and interviewing experience. I knew how to get people to talk; to relax them so they said a bit too much.
I pulled all nighters. After one all nighter I flew to the Bahamas for a wedding, and stayed up past Midnight exploring with the bride and groom. The wedding itself did me in but I was proud I lasted so long. Not bad for a woman long old enough to be a grandmother.
I probably would have enjoyed the interviews more had I been younger. But I felt dirty; as if I were doing something wrong.
Then I discovered blogging. For years I never had writers block, never wanted to stop writing.
Now it’s harder, much harder. I don’t know if it’s age, or I’m tired of myself, or once more I just want to have fun.
I will finish the book I’m writing, or die trying.
But I’m so sad. So scared. I thought delaying Social Security until I’m 70 (which sounds much younger, and elegant than the age I’m turning) would keep the fear at bay.
I was so young for so long. And now I can no longer pretend. Is being ambitious a joke? Or will having ambitions, dreams, and working on them keep age at bay?
I don’t know. In eight days when I turn 65 I will begin to know.
Oh I am scared. So scared.
You sound as though you have a lot more life–and adventure–in you! Keep going.
I so hope! And thanks for commenting
Enjoy life, finish your book, watch sunrises from the Grand Strand, smile and be thankful!
I’m heading up to Wilmington next week.
Hi Sage
I am thankful. Aging kind of crept up on me unnanounced.
Let me know when you’re going.
Pre Happy Birthday.Having fun is a requirement for birthdays.No need to be sad or scared. I can’t wait to turn 65! No more medical insurance huge payments!
Haralee—I was an SSI Claims Rep and my first Medicare payment was screwed up. After many phone calls. Apparently if you’re not taking Social Security yet they make you go through hoops
You feel what you feel. Some say that what you feel is your choice. I don’t know if that’s true or not.
I didn’t feel old at 65. Some days I feel old now, in my 70s, other days I don’t. I’m still having fun, so no point in my thinking about it much. None of my three sisters made it past age 68. It’s a privilege to age.
No one but you knows how you feel and what you will do about it. But, I do know that you’re one smart cookie, and you’ll do what you need to do to adjust to the joy of being old enough for Medicare. It’s a good thing.
Nathalie
I know it’s a privilge. And I enjoy it. It’s just one day I was 40 and the next day I’m turning 65
Hi Pia – it’s been a very long time since commenting on your blog! Old? Well, I got my first whiff of feeling like an “old fogie” this past few days when our cousins dropped in unannounced… with kids of course. It was actually wonderful – and the love I have for all of them welled up like a new spring. The old fogie feeling came from realizing that so many years ago, I was one of those kiddos running around the camp, carefree and happy in the moment. I was now the one sitting around the campfire playing games and generally doing nothing. When did it all change? Hmmmm. As Nathalie said, it is a privilege to age – but dang – wasn’t expecting this. You will be fine – we all are. We just do it.
Hi Terry
Exactly exactly exactly
Happy near-birthday! I hope you keep going with the dreams and ambitions – I enjoy reading about them so much. Hope it’s a glorious day in SC for your birthday (and today too0!
Thanks Bonnie. It feels like the hottest winter in SC history. Can’t really explain it.
And thanks again for the lovely words
P.
All I can think of to say is you go girl. You are and always have been stronger and smarter and more talented than any one I know. XOXO
Chris
Was going to make a truly horrible joke about the company you keep and then realized we kept the same company throughout the 1980’s
Thanks so much. I am truly humbled.