A Bit of SELF Examination

I call this blog "Women of a Certain Age" yet I seldom write about the topic.  I started it with the idea it would be about women what they think, what they do, who they are, where they see themselves at different ages.  Instead, I found myself seguing, time and again, into politics.   I probably should have called it "Woman of a Certain Age"  and let it be about my opinions and not feel I'm off topic.  But, it is what it is.

I've just read a very nice article in the August edition of SELF magazine, titled "Bring on the birthdays!".  It's under their self expression category swhich offers personal opinions of women of certain ages, in this case from 28 to 78.  Each person describes what her coming of age means to her.  The first vignette is by a woman aged 42 who describes overcoming her fear of being too old and too afraid to learn to surf.  She finds a "bald, wiry and short" guy to teach her, hangs in there and finally learns after years of wanting it but being afraid.  She describes it this way,

("A benefit of age is that you care less about looking foolish and you know the value of persistance.")

I certainly agree with her perspective; not sure I'd go surfing, but it gives me something to think about with respect to facing my own fears.

The eldest contributor writes of her reluctance to attend this year's family reunion at a lake.  She positions her dilemma:  sit on the shore in a coverup and watch her grandchildren cavort or participate?  Her decision,

"I will look at my 70 year-old sister, Susie, and grin.  Together we'll watch the grandchildren, so joyously alive, just like the two of us.  Then I'll shed my cover-up and there I'll be in my new bathing suit on my old body which, despite three mornings a week at the gym, continues to succumb to gravity."

Whew!  I know how that feels even if I'm not 78.   We've been going to a nearby lake and I've been in three of my bathing suits and they're all torturous.  I need to get a grip.

Another woman's essay, titled "At 50, I'm keeping my vow", writes about her decision never to lie about her age.

"It's because of a promise I made to another friend back in 1981...I was sitting on a metal chair in a hospital watchiing Ed die of AIDS.  He was 31...as I watched his chest stop moving, I could think only of what Ed would have traded for the chance to grow old.  So I silently vowed to honor the life he never got to finish by celebrating my ability to finish my own.  I promised myself I would never complain about my sheer luck at having the gift of another day.  Another decade."

I never lie about my age.  My reasons are not dramatic or because of an epiphany. I simply never lie about my age because my mother never lied about hers.  Her friends continued to get younger but Mother never budged.  I always admired her for that. 

Speaking of age, the MIL took free subscriptions to Glamour and SELF magazines, thinking they were age-appropriate for my taste.  I've enjoyed reading them even though they feel somehow like a guilty pleasure.  That said, when it's time to renew, I think I just might keep the SELF subscription.  It always has one article that resonates.