JUST WHEN YOU THINK THE PARTY IS OVER… CELEBRATE!
At my age, I am acutely aware of just how ironic,
unexpected and brutal life can be. It
definitely entertains an odd sense of humor and, often times, I don’t care for its comedic gestures, but I have learned
to respect its repertoire. That’s the
graceful part of the aging process - to learn to accept the things that we
cannot change and keep it moving. Sounds
great, doesn’t it? Truth is, it is all still
a struggle for me. It is difficult for me to swallow a pill that I never thought
I’d have to, or take a spoonful of medicine - bitter taste and all. I suppose you all know what I am talking about
here. Those days…those moments… and then
those realizations.
I recently experienced an epiphany of sorts. A life learning experience tainted with panic, depression, clarity and happiness. I have always been a pragmatic person who doesn’t subscribe to the often overused term “Everything happens for a reason” because I don’t believe everything happens for a reason. Life is chaotic, random, unfair and non-negotiable. That’s it. No rhyme nor reason. What I do believe is that it is our decision to make what we want when life presents a situation to us We can either cry or keep it moving. Perhaps both. With that said, this leads me to what I wanted to share with you this week which demonstrates what I’m talking about.
As I was ending another 9-to-5 workday and feeling particularly lazy, I decided to take the mezzanine elevator because it is closer to where I had parked my car and, admittedly, I was trying to walk the shortest distance possible. Thinking about my drive home, what I was going to eat for dinner, how I was going to convince myself not to exercise that night, I rounded the corner to the stairwell and as I turned I noticed that there were approximately 10 construction workers, all men, waiting in the hall to board the freight elevator. Now, in order to get to the stairwell, I had to pass the freight elevator which meant I had to pass through the gamut of this construction crew. Do you know where I’m going here? If you are a woman, you most certainly do. Men, let me explain. As women, we spend a good deal of time subjected to leers, whistles, cat-calls and unwelcomed sexual innuendos. It is just an unfair fact of the female existence. So you can understand why immediately my body reacted to this situation. My shoulders tensed, I put my game face on and straightened up in preparation for some epic uncomfortableness. As I proceeded to walk past, a few of the men wished me a “Good evening,” one said “Oh, excuse us” and another said “Let me get the door for you.” I was actually quite pleased with this exchange of pleasantries and reciprocated wishing everyone a good night as well. As I walked down the stairs, I thought “Um.. what just happened?” This is when the trouble began. Letting the horse out of the barn so to speak, my thoughts raced to an idea that has haunted me ever since I crossed the 40 mark - which was nine years ago. Yes, this is the point where the real uncomfortableness set in. I am certainly not, nor would I ever describe myself as, a sex pistol, but I have had my share of rubberneckers. We all have. So what gives? Couldn’t they see that a woman was walking by? As I sat in my car processing the past few moments, I realized the horror in it all. I had finally reached a certain age deserving of a certain respect. You know a “mature woman” or, worse yet, an “older woman.” People no longer considered me a “PYT” (pretty young thing), but as a woman who has transgressed into age obscurity and no longer appealing. In other words, a woman passed her prime. I immediately fell into the depths of depression realizing that I was no longer viewed as young as I felt, but as old as I looked. It was a moment of fear and loathing and a very long drive home. Actually, it was a long week as I began to engage in an age obsessed pity party.
When I finally reached the end of my self-imposed depression drama, I realized that how the world views me is entirely up to me. Regardless of whether time has left its footprints on my face, hair and hands; it is me who gives the universe its perception of who I am, who I was and who I am going to be. I do! And, that in this instance, I had probably made some grave assumptions. Those men were being gracious and respectful. Their actions were probably nothing more than seeing a woman who was walking past after a long day of work, a woman they know, and quite possibly a woman they love. Older or not. And there’s certainly nothing wrong with that. The irony in this situation is that it was actually life that made me very uncomfortable that day and not the construction crew. Life made me uncomfortable so that I could get out of my own way. That’s very important. We need to get out of our own way. My inner beauty, self-assurance and maturity will shine through and it is this brightness that I put out into the world that will always overshadow my graying hair and creeping crow’s feet. That the ever growing changes I experience as I age actually add more flavors to the delicious dish I am; the delicious dish that those of us coming up in years all are. And that my friends is the graceful part of aging, the maturity of it all, and the romance of coming to appreciate and cherish the passing days. All discovered in a fleeting moment on an ordinary day. Now, there is definitely an abundance of comfort in that.
I recently experienced an epiphany of sorts. A life learning experience tainted with panic, depression, clarity and happiness. I have always been a pragmatic person who doesn’t subscribe to the often overused term “Everything happens for a reason” because I don’t believe everything happens for a reason. Life is chaotic, random, unfair and non-negotiable. That’s it. No rhyme nor reason. What I do believe is that it is our decision to make what we want when life presents a situation to us We can either cry or keep it moving. Perhaps both. With that said, this leads me to what I wanted to share with you this week which demonstrates what I’m talking about.
As I was ending another 9-to-5 workday and feeling particularly lazy, I decided to take the mezzanine elevator because it is closer to where I had parked my car and, admittedly, I was trying to walk the shortest distance possible. Thinking about my drive home, what I was going to eat for dinner, how I was going to convince myself not to exercise that night, I rounded the corner to the stairwell and as I turned I noticed that there were approximately 10 construction workers, all men, waiting in the hall to board the freight elevator. Now, in order to get to the stairwell, I had to pass the freight elevator which meant I had to pass through the gamut of this construction crew. Do you know where I’m going here? If you are a woman, you most certainly do. Men, let me explain. As women, we spend a good deal of time subjected to leers, whistles, cat-calls and unwelcomed sexual innuendos. It is just an unfair fact of the female existence. So you can understand why immediately my body reacted to this situation. My shoulders tensed, I put my game face on and straightened up in preparation for some epic uncomfortableness. As I proceeded to walk past, a few of the men wished me a “Good evening,” one said “Oh, excuse us” and another said “Let me get the door for you.” I was actually quite pleased with this exchange of pleasantries and reciprocated wishing everyone a good night as well. As I walked down the stairs, I thought “Um.. what just happened?” This is when the trouble began. Letting the horse out of the barn so to speak, my thoughts raced to an idea that has haunted me ever since I crossed the 40 mark - which was nine years ago. Yes, this is the point where the real uncomfortableness set in. I am certainly not, nor would I ever describe myself as, a sex pistol, but I have had my share of rubberneckers. We all have. So what gives? Couldn’t they see that a woman was walking by? As I sat in my car processing the past few moments, I realized the horror in it all. I had finally reached a certain age deserving of a certain respect. You know a “mature woman” or, worse yet, an “older woman.” People no longer considered me a “PYT” (pretty young thing), but as a woman who has transgressed into age obscurity and no longer appealing. In other words, a woman passed her prime. I immediately fell into the depths of depression realizing that I was no longer viewed as young as I felt, but as old as I looked. It was a moment of fear and loathing and a very long drive home. Actually, it was a long week as I began to engage in an age obsessed pity party.
When I finally reached the end of my self-imposed depression drama, I realized that how the world views me is entirely up to me. Regardless of whether time has left its footprints on my face, hair and hands; it is me who gives the universe its perception of who I am, who I was and who I am going to be. I do! And, that in this instance, I had probably made some grave assumptions. Those men were being gracious and respectful. Their actions were probably nothing more than seeing a woman who was walking past after a long day of work, a woman they know, and quite possibly a woman they love. Older or not. And there’s certainly nothing wrong with that. The irony in this situation is that it was actually life that made me very uncomfortable that day and not the construction crew. Life made me uncomfortable so that I could get out of my own way. That’s very important. We need to get out of our own way. My inner beauty, self-assurance and maturity will shine through and it is this brightness that I put out into the world that will always overshadow my graying hair and creeping crow’s feet. That the ever growing changes I experience as I age actually add more flavors to the delicious dish I am; the delicious dish that those of us coming up in years all are. And that my friends is the graceful part of aging, the maturity of it all, and the romance of coming to appreciate and cherish the passing days. All discovered in a fleeting moment on an ordinary day. Now, there is definitely an abundance of comfort in that.
So just when I had thought that my party was over… I
celebrated. And I continue doing so.
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