Older—Beautiful inside and out—Invisible
I gave a little start when those words flashed onto the screen during a presentation by the poet Elizabeth Bradfield. Liz was in the process of describing six-word stories, modeled on Hemingway’s heartbreaking For sale: Baby shoes. Never used. The photograph showed a wall from the 6 Words Minneapolis project, in which city residents were asked to briefly describe themselves. This entry spoke directly to an experience I’d been having of late but hadn’t quite been able to name.
Consider: I smile at a young couple who are walking with their baby out of the grocery store as I enter. Their eyes flit briefly over my face and body without expression.
Waiting in a loose group of people for service at a food truck—there doesn’t seem to be a line—the fellow taking orders looks straight at me and then asks the guy in back of me what he’d like.
In a park a young couple finishes a photo shoot for their engagement pictures and walk toward me on a narrow gravel path. I smile and say, “Beautiful day.” They squint and pass by as if they’ve heard a noise but can’t place what it might be.
Every time this happens, it shocks me. I’m not that old! A little wrinkled, yes, but not even close to elderly.
True, I can’t know exactly what was going on in any of these instances. Maybe the couple with the baby was merely exhausted and moving through life like zombies. Maybe the man behind me at the food truck had somehow gotten there first. The couple in the park—that one’s hard to explain away. I was right in front of them. But, ok, they were probably engrossed in wedding plans.
Also—Hate to say it, but a younger age I behaved exactly the same way. Working for newspapers in my twenties, I counted myself among the young reporters who were (we flattered ourselves) the only ones doing cutting-edge journalism. We paid scant attention to articles by our colleagues older than 40—who, I realize now, had a great deal they could have taught us. For way too many years, I wished the old fogeys would get out of the way and give us youngsters room to forge new ground.
Clearly I should have seen this coming.
Jeff thinks I’m wrong, On a subway one day, he nudges me and nods toward two gray-haired women who stand hanging onto a pole, deep in conversation. There’s something about them—their stances, their passion as they talk—that exudes strength. “Are they invisible?” he asks. I have to admit: He’s got a point with these two. Simply from their postures, I can tell they’re not going quietly into the good night. Whatever they’ve got, I want it.
Or maybe I already have it. While aging has made me a little less sure of myself in some ways, I trust my instincts more, and I’m much more grounded in my beliefs. I’m more aware of what’s going on around me. I wouldn’t make the same dumb mistakes I might have made at the height of my sex appeal—say, walking into a dark alley with a man I didn’t know well because I was too polite to object.
I can take solace in the fact that older women have a more vibrant role in society than ever before. Look at the number of women in Congress who are over 70. Many writers, artists, and actresses continue to work into their 70s and 80s, even their 90s. I don’t have to quietly fade away unless I choose to. I suspect I won’t.
I wish I could meet the woman who penned that six-word story. There’s a lot more to it than the word “invisible,” and I find myself nodding my head each time I reread it. Yes, I’m beautiful now inside and out, in a way I’ve never been before. I’m calmer and more forgiving of those around me, and of myself. I wouldn’t trade this body for my twenty-year-old self unless I could retain all the lessons life has taught me. Beauty without wisdom holds no appeal.
Now I can quietly take stock of each new situation. I more readily notice people like me and other overlooked folks. What can they teach me? Calmer, quieter, no longer constantly seeking the spotlight, I find I have nothing to prove. I can simply be. Isn’t this peacefulness what I longed for in my earlier years?
This is my heart’s new work—part of it, anyway. MUch of the rest is encompassed in my own six-word story:
Forgiveness begets peace.
Infuriating, but true.
This post was originally published on the web site Tiny Buddha, and you can find it here.
What would your six-word story be? You can find more examples of this project, carried out in Minneapolis in 2012, here. A couple of other examples:
Frowning husband
Sick kids
Kept singing
—Marilyn E B, 84
I was afraid
Now I’m fierce
—Maggie, 38