Age is just a number
I'm 42 years old.
I don't have an issue with that. I don't look anything like what I remember 42-year-olds looking like when I was a teenager. Remember when you were a teen? Didn't 40-somethings all look ancient? Thank goodness WE don't look like that, right?
Thanks to good genes, I have very smooth skin (gracias mami!). Thanks to a cosmic fluke, I have lots and lots of hair. I also have a generally positive outlook on life, and a childlike appreciation for the little things. People are surprised when I tell them I'm 42.
I guess that makes me middle aged.
I have a big issue with that.
Middle aged sounds ancient. Why does being 42 not bother me, but being middle aged makes me think of a crocheted afghan, a rocking chair and a cup of chamomile tea? Not that there's anything wrong with any of those things, mind you! But they're not for me.
I have a friend that I met in college. She was in my French class and she dressed in black and white, her red hair in a bob, bright red lipstick on her Angelina-Jolie-esque lips. I was 18. Soon after we met, she annouced she was 31. She was the first woman I knew that would tell her age without batting an eye. I asked her about that once: didn't she feel shy about telling her age? No, she replied. She was proud of her age and saw nothing wrong with saying how old she was. Young, impressionable, 18-year-old me thought that was so subversive! And cool! So I decided there and then that I wanted to be like her - unashamed of my age and proud to say it. And I'm happy to report that I am. Except when I think about how being 42 is middle aged.
When I turned 26, a close friend gave me wrinkle cream as a gift. I thought it was a gag gift, but she was quite serious. I told her I wasn't worried about wrinkles. She said it was because I didn't have any yet. My friend was 2 years younger than me and she told me she was already using the wrinkle cream. I told her I was more concerned about the random gray hairs that were sprouting up like a teletubby antenna. My friend said she wasn't worried about grays. I replied that it was because she didn't have any yet. I started coloring my hair soon after that.
My Main Squeeze has a thing for older women. I am two years younger than him. And I look more than 2 years younger than him (because he has less melanin and he's a lot more outdoorsy). Last summer, we were going to travel on vacation and he had always expressed an interest in seeing me with bright red hair. I told him I wouldn't mind - I love red hair - and coloring my hair just before a month-long summer holiday would be perfect, so that the bright red would have some time to fade. But we couldn't make a decision about which shade of red, so we went on our holiday without me coloring my hair. Then, when we got back, I mentioned coloring my hair to cover my grays and my Main Squeeze said he liked my grays. What if I didn't color my hair? The idea seemed too radical at the time. Not color my hair?? Let my grays show?? What about those wonky crooked ones that stick up??
I have not colored my hair since around June of 2015. All of the color I had put into my hair has grown out and been cut off - I keep my hair very short. So what you see is pure, natural hair. It has never felt healthier. And it has grays. I was asked by several coworkers about what I did to my hair. "Absolutely nothing." I kind of like the grays and my Main Squeeze certainly does. I now call them my Mature Woman Highlights.
I sometimes wonder how we women wound up with the short end of the stick when it comes to aging. Sure, Hollywood has a lot to answer for, as do the fashion and beauty industries. How else can you explain George Clooney's appeal and Demi Moore's "Cougar" label? Harrison Ford is an old fart and he's still making blockbusters, while Helen Mirren is the exception rather than the rule.
When one of my dear friends turned 40, I sent her a notebook I had written in nearly daily for a few months. One entry I wrote said something about how in my 30s, I felt like people finally started seeing me as an adult, but in my 40s, I'm finally starting to see myself as an adult. Notice I said "starting". It's a process.
Youth isn't wasted on the young; that's exactly where youth belongs. Personally, I'm glad I left it behind. There is so much adulthood to look forward to.
