The more things change, the more things stay the same. My mother could muster an old saw for every occasion and this was one of her favourites. I have probably inherited a little of this annoying trait. Change has been in the air and in everyone’s mind a lot lately and this phrase (and my mother’s voice) has been running through my mind constantly.
Do things really appear to change and then end up staying the same? Well, if one is intent upon only creating the appearance of change, then my mother’s comment will have a certain truth to it. I waited years for my late husband to change (being late was one of the things I waited for him to change). Then I woke up one day and realized it was me who had to change. So I did. I changed my attitude, the locks on the doors and my marital state. Things were not the same afterwards.
Women go through “the change.” Men do too, but we haven’t been able to make them feel comfortable enough to openly discuss it yet. Read more
What constitutes a bona fide, howling, 3-D midlife crisis? For men, it’s become a cliché:
1) Buy a convertible sports car
2) Begin harboring evil thoughts about your wife
3) Have an affair with someone 20 years your junior
But, what about us? What are the signs of a woman on the verge? We are too complex to fall into easily categorized behavior patterns (of course). First, we don’t need to wait for the midlife point, which, thanks to increasing life spans, now begins neatly at fifty. Secondly, we can have several midlife crises if we feel like it. I think I had my first at age 43. Read more
“It is sad to grow old, but nice to ripen.” —Brigitte Bardot
Being a woman in full flower, of a certain age, and ripe, ripe, ripe, I often find myself comparing how I was to how I am. CBF (Connie Before Fifty) was just a glimmer of who I am becoming. Confidence, discipline, integrity, fearlessness would come and go like the Aurora Borealis—shining, colorful and dazzling; dancing and playing for all it’s worth.
Then the self-talk would take over. I’d tell myself all sorts of half-truths. That I wasn’t worthy, couldn’t fulfill my promises, can’t do that, too tired, they’ll find out I’m a fraud, they don’t need me, I can’t cut it, or worst of all, they don’t like me. I’d go about proving why all those things were true, hate myself for a few months, then gear up my energy for another go round, and again, fly and sing and be in my true self. It was exhausting. Read more
I’ll admit it. I need reading glasses.
It took some time for me acknowledge this publicly. A few years back, this was the scenario: I’d be out to dinner at a dimly lit restaurant. It was bad enough that I couldn’t hear (that’s the fashion these days, over-packed rooms with hard surfaces feigning a ‘happening’ atmosphere), but I couldn’t see, either. Casually trying to hold the menu a few inches away, then farther, a bit farther, finally at arms length—didn’t fool anyone. While my girlfriends of a similar age would whip out their fashionable specs, I would scoff because at age 48, I was still able read the fine print, in the perfect light, that is. But alas, I got older and Gumby got fuzzy. Read more