So, I’m at that stage in life, where I’m older than I ever thought I’d be – not that I thought I would die young or anything, but like so many other circumstances you find yourself in, such as marriage, cancer, or winning the lottery, to name a random selection, I never imagined that my birthdays would keep happening.
Funny thing is, the anniversary of the day of your birth happens once every twelve months, so unless I choose dishonesty, shame, and denial concerning my birthdate, (that’s a big nope), I deal and move on.
Sure, I’m not yelling my age from the rooftops, because the stigma of numbers still persists, I think that after the first 25 years of life or so, how a person relates to the world and themselves is defined by experience and mindset, not how many times you’ve been around the sun.
This almost sounds like I’m setting a justification for dating someone a lot younger than me. I’m not by the way.
It’s just that now I realize I want to live for a really long time, so I guess I’m in the middle of life.
And it is just so messy at times.
I’m noticing, especially over the last few years, that there are so many things I appreciate about living longer. There are also many things and people I am happy to leave in the rearview mirror, mainly things I don’t have to revisit, nor do I care to.
Feeling awkward and inadequate is one. Being my own worst bully is another.
I’ve been through lots of traumatic shit, (but really, who hasn’t?) That’s OK though because I never have to go through it again. I’ve learned those lessons. Been there, done that. Ain’t. Going. Back.
And besides, I think it’s the adversity we experience that shapes us, people either evolve or atrophy when things don’t go as planned. I have always done my best to choose evolution, however slowly. Sure I didn’t earlier in life. It wasn’t until I realized that my being salty or playing the victim role because of what someone else did, only impacts me. I also got sick of hearing myself moaning continually about stupid crap. I realized I was just becoming an expert at my own problems. Oh and, Yuk. It’s pretty shit when you turn yourself off yourself.
I have a tendency to enjoy the melancholy-ness of a feeling, I am happy to let it take me down and feel it all, it has taken me years to remember to push off the bottom once I reach it. But I can see things for what they are now, and keep a rational perspective about so much more.
Obviously, I do this after I’ve processed things, felt them, and let them pass through.
Because of those experiences, I am smarter, wiser, more reasonable, and more refined, I can communicate clearly and with confidence, and I can advocate for myself and my son. I have more control over myself. I know I can trust myself. I know I have been tempered. I also know we have all been through some shit and we all deserve to be treated with dignity and kindness. Every single body of all shapes and sizes, all colors, all ages, and all genders. All of us.
At last, I have reached the stage where I can just be myself completely because I realize it does me no good to twist and turn and contort myself to fit into someone else’s idea of me. Because that’s all it is when you think about it, feeling inadequate is your own perception that other people are thinking you aren’t enough. I also realize that this life thing really is a massive game.
I would go ahead and guesstimate with a sweeping generalization that at least 85% of people in all industries are not entirely sure what they are doing.
I have recently started my own writing and editing freelance side gig, and although I was new and scared that I felt like an imposter,(although I now think of that feeling as a sign that I am actually on track, and I’m scared) I just kept going, and I soon saw that nobody else really knew what they were doing either. We are all just being swept along by our desire to express ourselves and to create, and I think that is pretty cool.
Working creatively and writing for people online, is wholly dependent on words. It is very equalizing when you have no idea what the other person looks like – although you may see a thumbnail if you sign a contract with them. Everything depends on one’s ability to express oneself clearly, and concisely in written form, without cues of unconscious body language and tone of voice.
Although, writing has a tone. All this helps clearly indicate if you are on the same wavelength. I love that it’s fairly anonymous that way. Not everyone is going to get you and you aren’t going to get everyone, but the ones you do click with produce some great collaborative experiences. I love that part especially.
I also see it as my duty, to all those friends that have not lived this long, to be here as honestly and completely as I can, and enjoy my life to the fullest. To be as authentic as I can be. At the time. It can be argued that one is only as authentic as one is capable of being with what they have at any one time.
That being said, I also try to not do or say some things too. Although it’s frightening how easily these “older people” tendencies want to happen. I’m wondering if it’s part of our DNA.
I do try to have enough self-awareness to stop myself from doing those things, you know those gestures or expressions you associate with seniors, (well I associate with them anyway), sometimes it works, and sometimes it doesn’t.
Last week I was walking the dog around our neighborhood, in the middle of the road because we have no sidewalks – apparently, people in NC neighborhoods don’t walk outside very often, so little in fact, that if a home is available for rent or sale in a neighborhood with sidewalks, that is actually a selling point. And even then, it’s only one side of the road.
So I’m walking on the road with the dog, and this white charger zooms up the road, definitely faster than the posted 15 m/ph – our house is near the top of a hill with a curve in front of it, which makes the top of a loop, often cars will drive around the loop on their way out of the neighborhood for shits and giggles, or maybe they don’t know how to do a 3 point turn, or reverse…who knows?
It can be quite exciting at times to reel in the dog from his 18-foot retractable leash as a car suddenly appears, either at the corner one way, or up the hill from the other, and my life momentarily flashes before my eyes, hoping their foot on the brake pedal is faster than my dog’s meandering to the side of the road.
Anyway, this car sped past us as we were walking up the hill, and was back a few minutes later, after dropping something or someone off obviously, leaving the neighborhood. As they sped around the corner towards us, I took a step towards them and shook my finger at them, yelling “SLOW DOWN!” They slowed down a little to get by the crazy woman and her dog on the road. And hit the accelerator again as soon as they had gone by us. I caught a momentary glimpse at myself in their black-tinted windows, seeing myself as someone else would see me, a crazy middle-aged woman with a dog. Waving her finger and shouting.
Good grief. Have I made “Karen” status?
I laughed to myself remembering when I was younger, if someone shook their finger at me, they would usually get one in return and not the pointer finger. (I don’t know if they returned the finger gesture, the windows on this car were too dark).
- Must remember to master my crazy witchy look, as I feel that would have more of an impact on speeding a*holes in our hood.
Later that evening, we were at a family dinner, it wasn’t especially formal – just one of those token get-togethers because someone was in town, which is nice, and it became apparent that I had a mutual acquaintance with one of our family members.
After we had established this, he started scrolling intently through his phone. I’ve known him for close to 20 years and he’s only a year or so older than me. This dismissive behavior is nothing new, so, cool, we know the same person, end of the conversation I guess. I wandered over to the other side of the room to talk to my sister-in-law (well ex- sister in law, but we’re still great friends, so now just….sister?), because I felt that our conversation was done.
The next minute, this family member comes over waving his phone at me. He had to show me a photo of himself and said mutual friend together. I felt this was slightly odd. Given that I had not doubted that they knew each other. As he stood there expectantly, all I could do was smile and say, “oh cool.” I don’t know what he wanted. Validation? Was I supposed to have a photo of us together too? To prove I knew this guy? That he was better friends with them than I was? It felt very one-uppish and immature. Like he had to prove to me that he knew the mutual friend so well they took photos together.
Great. O.K.
Then it occurred to me that he was doing it too. That messy middle where we do stuff we probably wouldn’t have done ten years ago. This includes the stuff that makes us cringe too. And for the first time, I could recognize it, but I did not feel the need to take it on. And it was a good feeling.
I do love this living longer thing.
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