Ma’am: I Never Imagined Feeling This Young While Being This Old

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Not long ago, a young woman in her twenties referred to me as “Ma’am” while we were on a flight to Chicago. I was heading to a reunion with a fantastic group of women who had dubbed themselves the “Sisterhood” back in our grad school days, when we were anything but elderly—though I was already one of the oldest, being in my 30s at the time.

Back then, no one called me “Ma’am.” Yet, here I was, years later, with this fresh-faced blonde assuming I fit the definition. “Excuse me, Ma’am,” she said politely as she squeezed past me to her window seat, as if she thought I might shatter if nudged too hard.

I wasn’t invisible to her, unlike how I sometimes feel nowadays. Instead, she saw me as someone who might be fragile, part of a different generation—someone older. I chuckled about it during our Sisterhood reunion that weekend, sharing the story on social media. Can you believe it? Me, a “Ma’am.” What a naive girl to see someone in their middle age as old.

Yet, when I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror, my heart sank a little. The hollows, the wrinkles, the slight sagging—it wasn’t the image I carried in my head. In my mind, I was still that youthful thirtysomething, navigating life with a sense of wonder.

I felt ancient in grad school, being a decade or more older than many of my classmates, who were fresh out of college and embarking on their professional journeys. While they were chasing childhood dreams of becoming writers, I was pursuing a dream sparked in adulthood, after realizing my previous career as an entertainment lawyer was a misstep.

The Sisterhood was formed during my second year of grad school. We were mostly in the same age range, each with past lives as executives, consultants, journalists, and more. Some were married, and one even had a baby on the way. They were hilariously witty, intelligent, and incredibly talented.

Despite my frequent travels between Iowa City and Los Angeles, where my fiancé lived, I felt more aligned with these women than anyone else in my program. We weren’t dowagers due to age; we were seasoned and wise, having experienced life’s ups and downs.

Fast forward years later, we gathered in Chicago, our hair grayer and faces more lined. We had achieved our dreams of becoming writers, but we were also wives, mothers, and mentors. We had faced many challenges and celebrated victories; we were a bit worn down but wiser. Nonetheless, the brilliance of each woman still shone through.

That encounter still haunts me at night, stirring up thoughts of aging. I don’t yearn for my youth; I appreciate the freedom that comes with age—caring less about appearances and embracing my inner sass. But the insecurities of my younger self linger: doubts about my worth, the pressure to earn my parents’ pride, and the longing for their guidance when I feel lost.

Sometimes I feel surprised that I’m this young at heart while having reached this stage in life. The echoes of my past selves swirl within me: the little girl hoping to mend her parents’ arguments through perfection; the overly critical teenager; the middle-aged woman who left a stable career to chase a passion, marrying a kind man who loves her flaws; and the mother whose son comforts her with a hug during her meltdowns, reminding her to start anew.

During that weekend in Chicago, we Sisterhood members shared stories about parenting, love, and the delicate balance of career and family. We also indulged in some carefree fun, giggling through “Magic Mike XXL” like teenagers. Later, another member and I, both raising sons, discussed the actors’ charm and how we wouldn’t want our boys to see the film, given its skewed message about relationships. We then retreated to one of our homes to relive the magic of the original “Magic Mike,” because, let’s be honest—the dancing was just better.

The joys and challenges of youth and age coexist within us, and I can’t simply wish away parts of either. Each day, I navigate the layers of my childhood, youth, and the middle age I find myself in, preparing for the inevitable dowager years ahead. Perhaps that’s the true gift of growing older: the acceptance that all those years—the good, the bad, and everything in between—remain a vital part of who we are.

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In summary, aging brings with it a blend of nostalgia and acceptance, challenging us to embrace all the layers of who we are.