Tagged: aging

Feminist Friday: This Time Will Be the Last Time

You guys, I’ve missed you!! I’ve missed writing – life has been a giant can o’ crazy this year and PYDPO has been a casualty. I apologize. I’m hoping that things will be settling and I can get back to sharing way too much personal information with strangers on the internet very soon. There have been so many things I’ve wanted to discuss with y’all recently! But every time I’ve started to write about MRAs or #NotAllMen or Rihanna’s ass, the rage has overwhelmed me and I’ve had to stop. So today I’m going to ignore all of that shit and talk about something much more important: all of my gray hair.

I turned 33 this year. I’m in the middle age zone – I’m all settled with a partner and kids, I have a career, I long for home ownership, I worry about retirement and life insurance. While all of that makes me feel like an adult, what makes me feel old is my hair. Years of slathering on Water Babies to avoid sun poisoning coupled with lots of extra collagen has left me fairly wrinkle free so far, but my roots show my age. And what used to be one here or there has turned into the fact that I’m definitely, totally going gray.
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I’m Not Afraid of Getting Old Anymore

I’ve hit a kind of awkward phase in my life. I’m no longer in my twenties, but don’t really feel resigned to the mid-thirties yet. I have no idea where to shop for clothes, as everything seems to be designed either by pirate sex workers or ladies who favor the twin-set and slacks. I have no idea what slacks are. I still get visited by the acne fairy, but I’m starting to maybe get some wrinkles. It’s like adult puberty. It’s weird.

The Seventies Selfie

The Seventies Selfie, My Mom and Dad

I have a subscription to Real Simple magazine, and it feels like every ad page is devoted to some “Miracle Eye Lift” or “Sexy Chin Implants” or whatever is designed to make you feel/look/act younger. The radio (yes, I listen to the radio) is filled with ads for laser skin resurfacing and vein removal. TV commercials are as bad, if not worse. Everyone seems to act as if getting older is a shameful thing to avoid at all costs. I admit I’ve fallen into this trap. My twenties were a blurry, fun, exciting mess and comparatively, my thirties seem boring and lifeless. I used to think it would be fun to recapture the halcyon days of my youth… the ones that I see through the rosy tints of time and perspective. Lately, though, my feelings on aging have come around.

I used to be so afraid of getting older, which was ironic, since I lived like I would never see thirty. As I’ve gone into this new weird stage of my life, though, I’ve come to appreciate every day that I have. My mom died when she was about my age. I was incredibly young, and don’t remember too much of her anymore. I have a lot of pictures. I know she had more gray hair than I do, although at the rate I’m going, it won’t be too long before I catch up. I know she wore big eighties glasses, and dressed in that way the decade had that aged you twenty years with a single turtleneck. I know that she smiled a lot.

My Mom's Wedding annoucement photo

My Mom’s Wedding annoucement photo

I came to realize that there are a lot of things worse than aging, so I’m getting older for the both of us. Maybe she never got to deal with the wonders of crow’s feet or wrinkly hands. Maybe she agonized over face creams and vitamins and anti-aging face wash. She also never got to see me get married or meet her grandchildren. I’m doing all of the things she didn’t get to do, hopefully with the same amount of grace and style, and I realized I am totally fine with it.