Middle Age Rant

I woke myself up snoring.  I know, embarrassing isn’t it? There are so many embarrassing things that happen when you become “over 50”.  Farting.  Yes, I admit, I fart, or toot when I walk as a friend told me once.  I’m finding hair in the drain and I know its mine.  What’s with the hair loss?  I thought that was going to be my son’s cross to bear, but genetics don’t lie.  Hair in places it has no right to be.  As a woman, to contemplate shaving over plucking because it doesn’t take as much time is just sad.

Back in the day, oh, when I was 40, things were beginning to make sense.  I had this body and I could shape it any way I wanted.  Now in my early 50’s, after 2 years of rigourous gym visits, I’m a bit firmer but still 10lbs overweight.  Back when I was 40, I could do anything and go anywhere.  Everything had adventure potential, due in part to the fact I had to do something to shake my life up.  I left my home, family, a good job, friends, and pointed my little Toyota Celica west, with my big german shepard, Kia, in the back seat.  No fear.  A lot of anticipation, but no fear.

Today I am 51 years old.  There is something about the virtual approach of middle age that I can’t get my brain around.  I need to start to acting in my 50’s right?  What does that actually look like?  My mother at 50 was (and remains) stylish, thin, in fantastic shape and active.  I, like my mother and my grandmother, refuse to go quietly or without style.  Style has become a big issue for me lately.  I’m in my 50’s-what exactly is my style?  Finding the answer to this very important question of the universe has become very important to me in my encroaching middle age.

I’m classic, with a bit of hippy chick thrown in under all the heavy coats with colorful scarves that I have to wear during 9 months of drab winter.  Function over style.  I hate that.  I want to wear the cute things I could get away with when I was 40.  Tight jeans.  Tank tops.  Big belts and  cute shoes.  There is no cause for tank tops when its below 10 degrees 9 months out of the year.  Plus the hips are spreading, the stomach is pouching and the thighs are rubbing.  Ouch.

I appreciated my 40’s.  I came to terms with the fact I was smarter than the work I was doing.  I wanted to make a bit of a difference in this world, so I took off to work in economic development in Blanding Utah for 2 years as a Vista volunteer.  Blanding Utah, population 3,500 souls, didn’t have as many people in 17 sq miles, as the building where I worked in Fairfax Va.  What a life experience.  I never doubted I could do it, and do it well.  I never doubted that it wouldn’t work out.  There is a lot of power being 40 years old.

As I approach being over 50 however, my options seem to become more limited.  To think about packing up and moving somewhere else is no longer an interesting idea.  I find myself wanting to be grounded.  I want a house with my stuff in it, as compared to a space that I occupy for a little bit.  I’m afraid that I’m reaching my expiration date with job opportunities, men and energy.  I feel like I’m at the top of my game professionally, but yielding points in looks.  Ok, I am vain enough to be concerned about my looks.  Overnight the eyes seemed to get creppie, laugh lines more pronounced and turkey wings that I am blessed to have will forever be my nemisis.

There are things that work with being over 50.  I don’t take any crap from anyone, and all of a sudden I find myself being the oldest one in the room, rather than the other way around.  With age comes wisdom, one hopes.  If you ask my opinion, I will tell you and even if you don’t ask, I’ll probably tell you anyway.  I am confident in this body that it will keep me healthy for many many years to come.  I just want to look good getting there.