Enjoy!
I am turning 50 this year, and I have to admit it bothers me, scares me even. Unlike Estizer, I do see myself changing when I look in the mirror. The skin around my eyes is becoming thin and transparent. My eyebrows are going wildly astray, and I have to shave my mustache. Yes I have one. Then there are my Mother's jowls that seem to appear out of nowhere when I catch an unexpected glimpse of myself. That is just my face. I am blessed with a "nice" figure that I have had to do little to maintain. Still, in recent years I see my body soften, spread, and sag. For most of my life I attracted much attention from men, wanted or not. Now, I can walk through the world almost invisibly, in the looser garb I choose to attire my new body. But it is not these things that bother me so much. In fact I relish paying less, rather than more attention to cosmetics and clothing, to appearance.
It is more a sense that I don't know this older person I am becoming. Who am I, now that I am not sexy, supple, a fruit bearing womb? Now that I cannot coast through life on looks and charm? Who am I, and who can I be, if my identity is not wrapped up in my femaleness? I hear other women my age talking about a loss of identity when their children are grown. Empty nest syndrome some call it. Who knew I would experience much the same feelings without children? Is it so deeply ingrained in our culture that a woman's role is to be a Mother that I could be mourning the loss of children I don't have? Is it all hormonal, psychological, a bit of each?
There is no preparation for this phase of life. The first half is mapped out for us. Get an education, get a job, get married, get a home, have kids. Then what? After all that focus on the external, it is no wonder we come to the second half of life lost and confused, afraid to look inside and see who we really are, what we may have to offer, or more importantly what we need to fulfill us.
I gladly posed for WrinkleQuest, thinking it a brilliant project, but I have struggled for 2 weeks to write this short statement. I realize that I wanted to write something definitive; when in reality I have only questions. The answers to these questions I don't yet know, but I do know that I like what I see in Eleanor's portrayal of me. I see in that wrinkled enhancement of myself, a glimpse of my truth, and I love it. I am ready to go with her and find what it takes to fill that empty nest, or to find what treasures that may already be buried there. Bring it on!
Thank you Eleanor for being my friend, and part of my quest!
Much love,
Gwyn
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