“Hi, beautiful woman. Sorry, but how old are you?” A European woman wrote to me on Instagram two weeks ago.
“Wow, tu es belle,” she said after I told her.
“Tu es trés gentille,” I responded.
“Do you usually feel old?” She switched back to english.
“Good question!” I answered. And I loved the “usually”.
“Truly, at every stage of life we can feel all kinds of things. I am more happy and engaged and satisfied with my life than ever before. Yes, I have times of wishing certain parts of my body were younger, but honestly, I wouldn’t trade how relaxed and free of worry I am at this age for my youth. I believe it is important to learn to live the life you love - that’s the secret.” I went on to say. And then I reflected on what were the beginnings of seeking out the life I might love?
None of us have ever been the age we are now. Read that again. Right. No matter what age we are becoming, we have no experience yet of that age. Sometimes the age we are turning doesn’t feel like much on our richter scale. Other birthdays, can be like, whoa! The earth shook! Seismographic quakes in the areas of where we think we should be in career, in love, in our bodies.
Where do we get our information on what this new territory will be like? How do we stay on our own track and not be pressured into competing or comparing.
I remember early in my adulthood beginning to notice women ahead of me in age and thinking, I’d like to be like her…. or, I don’t ever want to look or act like that! It was the beginning of seeking out a vision of my future self at each twist and turn of growing into the next stage of my life.
One fine summer day in Northern California, in 1968, I was playing in our front yard. I was ten years old. I stopped whatever I was doing when a cream-color sports car pulled smoothly into our driveway. A Pagoda Roof 250SL Mercedes with enameled wheels. I will never forget it. That was one of the first feelings of that is me.
My Aunt Lil stepped out of it. She was trim and had a thick, luxurious salt a pepper coif brushed into a flip, large stylish glasses that did not come from a five and dime, was smoking one of the perpetual long white Newports she carried in her large black handbag.
“Hi, kid,” she addressed me.
Lil had presence. She looked like Jackie-O crossed with Anne Bancroft. With the style of the former and the worldliness of the latter. I wanted that too. She taught mathematics at a local private school and was an artist in her spare time. She lived in a very Eichler-esque home in the coveted area of the Orinda hills on her own until she met and married an uncle of mine late in life. He moved in with her.
She became the first of a succession of alternative mother-like roll models I was to collect over my entire life. I still am collecting them. Who catches your eye? Who do you want to be?