Struggling through with joy... |
kind of.
Struggling through with joy... |
This morning I felt kind of spiffy. I was wearing an actual outfit, not just clothes thrown on because they were clean and might kind of match. My hair was less frizzy than usual and the color of my scarf made me appear more rested than I really was.
Then, I stood next to the extra-gorgeous teacher at school and I was transformed into Quasimodo Woman. The thing is, I’m not horribly unattractive, especially if I put some effort into my looks, which I don’t do much anymore. I am, however, naturally awkward. All those childhood ballet lessons didn’t erase my tendency to run into walls and trip on invisible cracks in the sidewalk, and age hasn’t dampened the spaniel-like enthusiasm that sometimes grips me and causes horribly uncool behavior. My smile is too big. My arms don’t always do what I’d like them too. Ten to fifteen million hairs are always out of place. My mascara is always running. Some women ease into middle age and develop a mysterious, classy demeanor. That isn’t happening over here. I’m headed down the road to eccentric old-ladyville. It’s something I’m getting used to with age, I even like it sometimes, but there are other times, as when I’m standing next to a tall blonde woman with a perfectly toned body and toothpaste-commercial smile, when I am profoundly aware of my awkwardness. Years ago I went out dancing with a close friend and another gorgeous teacher, also tall, blonde and perfectly toned. As the three of us walked around the city it became clear my friend and I had disappeared in the gorgeous teacher’s wake. Trailing her was like wearing the invisibility cloak from Harry Potter. By the end of the night my good friend and I were hunching our backs and dragging one foot around like the dear old Hunchback as we walked behind her, because that’s how we felt. It was the best part of the night. I think this happens to most of us women at some point, including my tall blonde friends. I’ve mostly gotten away from feeling bad about it because I’m middle aged. In the eyes of society, I’m fading in importance. While this is infuriating on many levels, it is a relief to walk around in relative anonymity. When I was younger I felt tremendous pressure to be the kind of woman who drew stares of admiration, which only increased my awkwardness. Now, I’m too busy living my life to care too about what some stranger sees in me.
3 Comments
BonCampLiteracy
3/8/2018 07:05:59 am
You have captured the lingering interest in still wanting to feel beautiful, yet also acknowledging that as we age we become more and more comfortable with who we are. May we continue to age gracefully, without beauty being one of the areas of concern for us.
Reply
3/8/2018 06:36:48 pm
I am relating to this on so many levels! I am 46, and am mostly comfortable with myself. But sometimes I catch a glance of myself in a mirror and am surprised at what I see. LOL
Reply
Sonja Schulz
3/9/2018 03:59:14 am
I can relate to this slice! I love the anonymity portion of it much of the time, but yeah, sometimes that cloak of invisibility feels too heavy.
Reply
Leave a Reply. |
Archives
March 2021
Categories |