This week, I attended a mandatory workplace HR training that included a section on age discrimination. It stated that the Age Discrimination in Employment Act (ADEA) protects individuals aged 40 and above from age-related bias. Wait, what? Now that I’m in my 40s, there’s a law to shield me from my age? I still chuckle at silly jokes; how can I possibly be considered “old”? It seems I’ve been catapulted into “middle age” without even a moment’s notice.
Physical changes are undeniably part of this journey, and rationally, I understand this. However, some changes have accelerated faster than a speeding bullet. It all began with chin hairs. One morning, I woke up to find the single, endearing chin hair I had clung to from college had multiplied exponentially. I now resemble a goat! Do you have any idea how much time I dedicate each week to managing these chin hairs? Every time my partner walks into the bathroom, there I am, perched on the counter with a magnifying mirror in one hand and tweezers in the other. It’s like our own version of foreplay.
And let’s not forget about the neck wrinkles—what gives? Is gravity trying to choke me? Have my head and neck suddenly conspired against me? Is there an exercise program that Richard Simmons offers for this dilemma? Or do women inevitably age like trees, with the rings showing on their necks?
Then, there’s the alarming issue of thinning hair. Once, I had long, thick, luxurious locks; now, it seems my hair is the first to wave goodbye. I’ve even resorted to taking prenatal vitamins in a desperate attempt to restore my hair, which, by the way, is a fantastic way to become perpetually constipated. Perhaps my hair has decided to migrate south for the winter—directly to my chin!
I used to bristle when people said, “You look great for having three kids; you must exercise regularly.” This is a classic compliment sandwich—an insult wrapped in praise, leaving me unsure if I should feel flattered or offended. How about I just look good, period? The same goes for age. If you say, “You look fantastic for being 41,” prepare for a swift punch to your smooth, youthful throat.
Despite these physical changes, the perks of aging far outweigh the drawbacks. I used to worry excessively about what others thought of me. Did I offend someone with an unreturned call? Do they like me? With age has come a newfound comfort in my identity and the value I contribute to relationships. Beyond my close friends and family, I genuinely don’t care about anyone’s opinion of me. It’s incredibly liberating!
I’ve learned to embrace my quirks. I’m open, honest, and sometimes an oversharer. This is probably why my friends seek my advice—there’s never any judgment here. Every awkward Tinder conversation, embarrassing story, or strange physical ailment gets dissected amidst tears of laughter and a good glass of Pinot.
In my younger years, I would apologize for everything. The middle-aged me, however, reserves apologies for genuine offenses. I won’t apologize for my obsession with Nicolas Cage or for reading only half of a bedtime story to my toddler to speed things up. I also won’t say sorry for taking an annual girls’ trip with my best friends until we’re old and gray—or until we all end up living together like the Golden Girls. I will be Blanche, and I won’t apologize for enjoying myself!
I’ve become more daring, too. Playing it safe is no longer my style. I’ve started writing and even signed up for a marathon. Sure, during a race last summer, a man in his sixties passed me wearing a “Ask me about Race Walking” shirt, but I won’t be discouraged. I walk around naked in front of my partner now, something I never would’ve done in my youth. Back then, I would have worried about every perceived flaw, like a dimple on my rear. But now? His only thought is likely, “There’s a naked woman; let’s get it on!” And we do, without worrying about those dimples.
I’ve also become more protective of my time, understanding its true value. Just last week, I had a conversation with my 11-year-old daughter that perfectly encapsulated my fabulous self at 41.
Her: “Mom, can you make dessert for my class party?”
Me: “I can absolutely grab something from Target tomorrow.”
Her: “But all the other moms are baking!”
Me: “That’s wonderful! I work full-time and have three kids. I simply don’t have the time.”
Her: “Really, Mom? You’re just watching TV!”
Me: “Good observation! My priority right now is The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills. Now could you grab me a glass of wine, please?”
Finally, I’ve learned to take life less seriously. I’ve witnessed enough tragedies that show how precious life is. Last week, my 9-year-old yelled, “Mom! Gavin pooped on the kitchen floor!” Sigh. A potty training disaster. But then he added, “Never mind, the dog just ate it.” Problem solved, and I didn’t even need to set down my wine glass.
In summary, while chin hairs, neck wrinkles, and thinning hair might be the physical markers of aging, there’s also a wonderful liberation that comes with it. Embracing who I am, taking risks, and prioritizing my time allow me to celebrate life more than ever. So here’s to middle age—may it be filled with laughter, love, and the occasional glass of wine!
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