At work, there are a couple of older women that I really like.
Martha-Lucia always greets me with enthusiasm. She always says she lives every day to the fullest because life is short and you just never know what happens. I often wonder what experiences stand behind those words. Then there’s Hannah, who is always so blunt and pragmatic.
At one point I utter the words “I’m jealous.” Hannah asks why and I tell her, “because Martha-Lucia is off early,” while I had to stay until 10 in the evening.
“Why would you be jealous? She’s old,” she blurts and I couldn’t help but laugh.
“She’s old, we’re old. Of coure she should go home early. You’re young, you have the body to keep on,” she continues.
And in some way, I realize my pattern of always looking at someone else’s situation and being envious without quite seeing the reality of things. As my therapist used to say, “you can’t compare apples to oranges.” And that has been one of the many reasons why I have been miserable most of my adult life. Because I was an orange wishing I could be an apple.
My team leader is also someone I like but her notions of aging somewhat disturbs me. She’s repeated it many times to me, “don’t get old” and at one point I told her that there was no stopping that. Everyone ages. The difference is whether we welcome that or hang on to the fountain of youth and collagen broths.
Martha-Lucia ages so beautifully, she isn’t afraid of it. When I was younger, I couldn’t see myself beyond my 30s. There was nothing to look forward to, but as I get older, I get happier and more excited to age. It seems there’s so many things you start to shed, and you get to know yourself better, care less, live your truth a little more. More wild, more insane, more unhinged and noone can stop you. Well, maybe patriarchy, misogyny, society, capitalism– but that’s where the fun is, it’s when you start breaking out of these systems that have tried to mold you into cookie cutter versions that are palatable to whoever benefits it the most.
One thing that still imprisons me about this concept of performative femininity is HAIR. I’m still beholden to waxing and threading. I still want to get my underarms lasered and bleached, my legs smooth as silk (in the summertime) but if I were really honest with myself, it’s all so exhausting?!
“Acceptable beauty” has become some sort of cosplay for me. It’s just a costume I put on when I step out of the house. Sometimes, having to preen myself to look presentable for a dinner out enrages me. Sometimes, it excites me. I still haven’t figured out why some days it feels like a chore and why some days feel like it’s play. I try not to get all muddled in the head over it.
Point is, I look forward to the versions of me at 40, 50, 60, 70 and beyond. I’m still figuring out and trying to envision what that would look like but I have a couple of ideas. I think, if I stay aligned–follow my truth, curiosity, and creativity, I’ll be alright.
