The other day, I found myself at the park wearing what I deemed my “fun sneakers.” They’re these black fabric shoes that my friend Lucy likes to tease me about, calling them my “skater kicks.” They offer no support, but I adore their vibe. They feel youthful, carefree, and effortlessly cool — everything I aspire to be.
However, today, I’m paying for my choice. My shins are in agony, so much so that I popped a few extra-strength pain relievers. Maybe I overdid it just a bit.
But oh, what a blast we had! We dashed back and forth between the “little kid zone” and the “big kid zone.” My daughter is at that perfect age where everything feels fresh and exciting, both for her and me.
In those sneakers, I kept pace with her as she scaled the rock wall, navigated the wobbly bridge, and zipped down the “big beautiful tunnel” slide — her words, not mine! They encouraged me to be adventurous, pushing aside my fears of tight spaces and heights. Those shoes reminded me of the energetic girl I once was and the mom I always envisioned myself becoming.
In those sneakers, I felt a rush of youth, moving quicker than ever because, well, that’s what felt right. These are the kinds of shoes that kids wear, and I’m sure my younger self would have rocked a pair just like them.
Now, I’m toying with the idea of changing my hair. The constant thought running through my mind is, “I love ___, but I’m too old for that.” Whether it’s pastel pink, a lavender gray like Kelly Osbourne, dark auburn with a goth twist, or even bold streaks of bleach, I find myself overanalyzing each choice. It makes me question my right to express myself through my appearance, turning a simple hairstyle search into an introspective journey.
I’m learning to embrace my evolving self, becoming braver and more at ease in my skin. I want to avoid overthinking what it means to have colorful hair or to sport sequined glasses or even to be a nearly 50-year-old mom chasing her 3-year-old around the park in the wrong sneakers while having way more fun than those with “normal” hair colors.
I refuse to let age dictate my dreams, whether it’s being the mom I want to be or pursuing my passion for writing.
I’m now in charge of my own narrative, which includes wearing those fun sneakers, regardless of the sore muscles that follow. And yes, I will soon color my hair in a vibrant hue. From now on, I’m choosing joy over overthinking.
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In summary, it’s time to stop overthinking my choices and start embracing what makes me happy. Whether it’s the sneakers I wear or the hair color I choose, I’m ready to take bold steps forward.