I have been thinking about my age a lot recently. I am turning
fifty-four on Monday. That’s one year shy of fifty-five, which seems definitive
only because it is undeniably mid-fifties. Whereas fifty-three is sneakier,
still hugging the half centennial mark comfortably, like a baby chimp.
Also,
my father has just been diagnosed with stage four lymphoma. This perfectly
ordinary life event has thrown me into a state of constant rumination about
aging, death, and what medical experts call, “the quality of life.” And, while
I endeavor to help my father make choices that empower him and make him
comfortable, my thoughts inevitably turn to the quality of my life. What do I want the rest of it to look like? How can I
maintain my own happiness in such a terrifying and cruel world? I’m not just
talking about cancer. I’m talking about ISIS, Gaza, Fergusson, the NRA, Climate
Change and it’s deniers, and gun-toting crazies who could easily walk into my
sons’ schools, firing rounds of bullets into their coltish bodies, ripping
through their flesh, robbing them of their lives and me of one more night of
tucking them in, kissing their sweaty heads and telling them I love them. And
that is not a complete list.
Which
brings me to the Renee Zellweger controversy, generated by a media that feeds
upon itself and pounced on by a public eager to be distracted from thoughts of
ISIS, Gaza, Fergusson, the NRA and all the rest. I am going to leave Ms.
Zellweger alone. But what I do want to talk about is “quality of life”, particularly
the quality of life for American women, and even more specifically for women of
a certain age. Imagine me saying this
under my breath and behind a raised hand, in much the same way folks in the
fifties muttered, “cancer”.
I
have looked at Ms. Z’s photos, read several blogs about them, formed my own
opinion, and even participated in a few back and forth comments about them on
Facebook. And the most striking thing to me about all that I have read, has
been the frequent attack on society. “Society doesn’t let women age”. “Society
expects us to conform to a set beauty standard.” “Society doesn’t judge men the
same way.” As if “society” is a thing apart from us women. A thing that we
can’t control. Holding us hostage like an abusive boyfriend. Smacking us across
the room for being too fat, then demanding that we make it dinner and serve it
on a tray while it sits in front of the TV guzzling a cold one.
Except
that is that it is not.
Society
is us. And every time that we lie about our age. Every time we slice into our
faces, breasts, and asses. Every time we shave our pussies clean – we are participating.
We are complicit. We are victims. And our quality of life?
So
ladies, if you are angry about the way that society views older women. Stop
whining and do something about it. Come out of the closet. Grow a pair. Declare
yourself to be a survivor – because you are.
I
often tell my boys that I am not smarter than they are. However, I have lived
on the planet a lot longer than they have, which means that I’ve learned a few
things. My knowledge, yes wisdom, about life and love and humanity and writing
and art and happiness and sadness and death – is worth something. It has taken
me almost fifty-four years to accumulate. With it comes a thicker waist and
lines around my eyes. But it is valuable. And I do not need society to tell me
that.
