Photo by Generationbass.
Now that I have crossed over into the territory labeled “mature woman,” what is my strategy for facing the challenges of aging? Am I aging gracefully by being composed and stately? Hell no. I’m mad, and I’m not going down without a fight. My strategy? I plan on fighting dirty, hiding the body, and dressing for excess. Street Fighter against Father Time. Older women have a harder time keeping the weight off than younger women. Even men have less trouble with weight gain as they age. I read the 2010 article from the Journal of the American Medical Association reporting on a 13 year study on middle aged women. Researchers found that older women must exercise vigorously for an hour a day to merely maintain their weight. Reading that, I was livid. I wanted to punch someone in the face. I am responding by taking out my aggression at the gym. With every step I take on the treadmill, I imaging trampling Father Time. He may get me eventually, but I am not going gently into that good night. He’ll have to take me, kicking and screaming (a good cardio workout) the whole way. Buried the Body of the Good Girl. After spending decades trying to please authority figures by being compliant, I’m done. I have killed the Good Girl and buried her where no cadaver dogs will ever find her. I am much more willing to follow my own gut, to advocate for change, to defend the disenfranchised, and in other ways point out, “The Emperor has no clothes on.” To avoid earning the moniker “crazy old lady,” I choose my battles. I don't go into full-tilt, angry crone mode daily. But my days of following the rules are pretty well over. Fashion Tip: More Is Better. As an older adult, I have stopped looking for fashion advice from peers, magazines, or department store windows. I delight in forging my own style, primarily by hunting through the racks of local thrift stores. And where I dressed primarily in solid pastels in my youth, I am choosing bright colors and patterns now that I've rounded 50. I may look a bit rococo, but who cares? Like legions of women who choose to wear purple, I'm having fun breaking fashion rules. I will wear white after Labor Day. I will wear silver, gold and bronze jewelry together. I might even (gasp) choose to wear socks with sandals one day. So don't expect me to glide through a room. I also refuse to sit quietly during a dinner party until I can deliver just the right bon mot. I dare to eat a peach. I am dressed for battle, Mr. Reaper. I am unkempt, unruly, and a bit unhinged.
After decades of preparation, I'm just now reaching my zenith. I'm riding into the sunset on a comet made from the fire in my belly. And my battle cry is a lusty, barbaric "Yawp!"
This is part of the Generation Fabulous Blog Hop for March. Check back on the 27th for links to other posts on the same theme.
