I Really Am Too Old For This Sh*t!
I am going to be 46 in two days. (Yes, it’s the Fourth of July: insert your patriotic, holiday joke here. And yes, I am quite the firecracker and proud of that.) Yeah, yeah, it’s just a number; I’m still young; I don’t look 46 at all; I’m healthy, strong, beautiful. All of that, yes, I know. And of course, I’m going on my 6th 39th year, a record somewhere.
As a woman, I’m not supposed to tell my age. As a woman in the entertainment industry, I’m really not supposed to let anyone know my age. But I always tell people anyway. In part, because I like to see the look on their faces because I don’t look anywhere near 40 much less 46 and because I have to say it out loud once in awhile to remind myself. I don’t feel like 46 although I don’t know what 46 feels like. If it feels like this then I’m doing okay. I can still dance, yoga, run, walk, hike and all that stuff. One of the young office employees here said to me last week, “I have to tell you, you are in great shape.” I nearly fell over. Really? I am at least 10 pounds heavier than I’d like to be and have been doing my daily regimen in hopes of keeping myself toned and my stamina high. My daily dose of yoga, walking and a two mile run is also to keep me mentally and emotionally fit. I can’t tell you what going without yoga for two days does to my peace of mind or whatever little of it I’ve cultivated over the years. Nevertheless, I was very pleased she commented on my fitness. It also forced me to maybe admit even though I’m not my perfect petite size 2 anymore, I’m still quite fetching and I’m doing something right. In fact, I don’t know what size I am anymore. I have to factor in water retention days when I try on jeans which I seem to buy every other week. I know of no other clothing item that is so ridiculously uneven in size depending what designer you’re trying on or whatever other cheap brand happens to be out there. Sometimes I’m a size 6 and sometimes an 8. Sometimes the size 6’s get smaller in the wash. Add to that, that I would live in jeans if I could and wear them to bed and at the same time, being in a 6 or an 8 makes me feel fat, I could just throw up my hands to the whole deal and surrender to the fact that deep within middle age I may not ever enjoy wearing a pair of jeans again. Please say it isn’t so.
But this is what I really enjoy because now I can say it and know I’ve earned it. I say all the time, “I’m too old for that shit.” It’s great! It’s so great to be too old to give a crap about keeping up with everything and everyone. I don’t even care anymore. I stopped caring when I turned 40 I think. I looked around one day and realized that some things that were goals in my life I either wasn’t going to achieve ever or that I didn’t care about it anymore. And it was quite the relief. It’s not that I’m not up for adventure or that I don’t have goals still I’d like to achieve but I just don’t want to work so hard anymore. I felt like all I ever did was strive strive strive to get somewhere in my life. Most of time it’s felt like I was running in place or banging my head against a wall. At this point in my life, I don’t have anything to prove anymore. I already know all the talents I have and all the good things about myself and all the ways I’ve succeeded and failed in my life. The only thing left is just to be happy. Enjoy the journey I guess and take it one day at a time. So that’s what that means. The platitudes kick in at this time with a ferociousness.
I read a book review of a computer technician who has a bestseller, a work of fiction, his first ever novel being published and he’s 49. Then they listed all the major authors who really didn’t publish until they were in their late 40’s. So I see there’s time for me to do what I need to do creatively and maybe this is the best time for it. All I know is the kings are gonna come to me now because by golly I’m not spending one more dime and one more precious minute of my life chasing after them. Forget it. I’m too old for that shit. See? Comes in handy!
I always hoped I’d age gracefully. I never wanted to be one of those people who botoxed, surgeried or starved myself. I wanted to be one of those people who at 50 or 60 could look back on their lives and see how far they’ve come and felt confidence with themselves and in their lives and looked forward to an adventurous old age filled with companionship, family and travel. I always thought I’d feel okay about turning 40 or 45 or whatever. Today I find that I’m not so much yearning for my youth because it wasn’t that great. It was mostly troubled and anxious and filled with grief, loneliness and lots of unanswered questions. No, it’s not the old days I yearn for, but I yearn for the chance to live it over and embrace all the uncertainty and feel that boldness of risk again. I wish I could take the opportunities I’d missed years ago and try them again with the knowledge I have now. The knowledge that I’m smart and good and beautiful and good enough. The confidence and respect for oneself that comes with age, comes with living through personal tragedy and despair and having to pick yourself up many times and try again often times in the face of great humiliation and discouragement.
I think the greatest thing I can say about myself now is that despite everything, I have grown in self-love which is most important. I have compassion and forgiveness for myself that I couldn’t find years ago. Because without these things, you can’t really move forward. I’ve also earned the right to confidence and self-respect because I have worked hard and still do to try to have enough self-awareness about myself and my actions and thoughts to change what doesn’t work, what has brought me trouble and what I’ve attracted both personal and material. If I am responsible, then let me live the rest of my life in responsibility for what I still can become and let me honor the years lived and the years to come. So what is the point of lying or not giving account of my years any more to anyone? I’m too old for that shit.
So if you call on my birthday and I don’t answer right away, give me some time because I’m probably trying to pull on my size 6 jeans.
As a woman, I’m not supposed to tell my age. As a woman in the entertainment industry, I’m really not supposed to let anyone know my age. But I always tell people anyway. In part, because I like to see the look on their faces because I don’t look anywhere near 40 much less 46 and because I have to say it out loud once in awhile to remind myself. I don’t feel like 46 although I don’t know what 46 feels like. If it feels like this then I’m doing okay. I can still dance, yoga, run, walk, hike and all that stuff. One of the young office employees here said to me last week, “I have to tell you, you are in great shape.” I nearly fell over. Really? I am at least 10 pounds heavier than I’d like to be and have been doing my daily regimen in hopes of keeping myself toned and my stamina high. My daily dose of yoga, walking and a two mile run is also to keep me mentally and emotionally fit. I can’t tell you what going without yoga for two days does to my peace of mind or whatever little of it I’ve cultivated over the years. Nevertheless, I was very pleased she commented on my fitness. It also forced me to maybe admit even though I’m not my perfect petite size 2 anymore, I’m still quite fetching and I’m doing something right. In fact, I don’t know what size I am anymore. I have to factor in water retention days when I try on jeans which I seem to buy every other week. I know of no other clothing item that is so ridiculously uneven in size depending what designer you’re trying on or whatever other cheap brand happens to be out there. Sometimes I’m a size 6 and sometimes an 8. Sometimes the size 6’s get smaller in the wash. Add to that, that I would live in jeans if I could and wear them to bed and at the same time, being in a 6 or an 8 makes me feel fat, I could just throw up my hands to the whole deal and surrender to the fact that deep within middle age I may not ever enjoy wearing a pair of jeans again. Please say it isn’t so.
But this is what I really enjoy because now I can say it and know I’ve earned it. I say all the time, “I’m too old for that shit.” It’s great! It’s so great to be too old to give a crap about keeping up with everything and everyone. I don’t even care anymore. I stopped caring when I turned 40 I think. I looked around one day and realized that some things that were goals in my life I either wasn’t going to achieve ever or that I didn’t care about it anymore. And it was quite the relief. It’s not that I’m not up for adventure or that I don’t have goals still I’d like to achieve but I just don’t want to work so hard anymore. I felt like all I ever did was strive strive strive to get somewhere in my life. Most of time it’s felt like I was running in place or banging my head against a wall. At this point in my life, I don’t have anything to prove anymore. I already know all the talents I have and all the good things about myself and all the ways I’ve succeeded and failed in my life. The only thing left is just to be happy. Enjoy the journey I guess and take it one day at a time. So that’s what that means. The platitudes kick in at this time with a ferociousness.
I read a book review of a computer technician who has a bestseller, a work of fiction, his first ever novel being published and he’s 49. Then they listed all the major authors who really didn’t publish until they were in their late 40’s. So I see there’s time for me to do what I need to do creatively and maybe this is the best time for it. All I know is the kings are gonna come to me now because by golly I’m not spending one more dime and one more precious minute of my life chasing after them. Forget it. I’m too old for that shit. See? Comes in handy!
I always hoped I’d age gracefully. I never wanted to be one of those people who botoxed, surgeried or starved myself. I wanted to be one of those people who at 50 or 60 could look back on their lives and see how far they’ve come and felt confidence with themselves and in their lives and looked forward to an adventurous old age filled with companionship, family and travel. I always thought I’d feel okay about turning 40 or 45 or whatever. Today I find that I’m not so much yearning for my youth because it wasn’t that great. It was mostly troubled and anxious and filled with grief, loneliness and lots of unanswered questions. No, it’s not the old days I yearn for, but I yearn for the chance to live it over and embrace all the uncertainty and feel that boldness of risk again. I wish I could take the opportunities I’d missed years ago and try them again with the knowledge I have now. The knowledge that I’m smart and good and beautiful and good enough. The confidence and respect for oneself that comes with age, comes with living through personal tragedy and despair and having to pick yourself up many times and try again often times in the face of great humiliation and discouragement.
I think the greatest thing I can say about myself now is that despite everything, I have grown in self-love which is most important. I have compassion and forgiveness for myself that I couldn’t find years ago. Because without these things, you can’t really move forward. I’ve also earned the right to confidence and self-respect because I have worked hard and still do to try to have enough self-awareness about myself and my actions and thoughts to change what doesn’t work, what has brought me trouble and what I’ve attracted both personal and material. If I am responsible, then let me live the rest of my life in responsibility for what I still can become and let me honor the years lived and the years to come. So what is the point of lying or not giving account of my years any more to anyone? I’m too old for that shit.
So if you call on my birthday and I don’t answer right away, give me some time because I’m probably trying to pull on my size 6 jeans.
posted by Maria @ 8:41 PM
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