I’ve been wearing this skin for 30 years and 9 months- technically. My face doesn’t look any older than when I was 29, I haven’t gained or lost any weight, but I feel different.
I started packing for my trip to Chicago, a trade show for work, by setting out my empty suitcase on the bed. Walking into my closet, I saw all of the clothes I didn’t want to wear to Chicago. I pulled short sequin dresses, mini shirts, mini skirts, and opaque-ish tops off of the hangers and folded them in a pile by the closet door.
I’m too old to wear them. I look ridiculous in sequin, and mini skirts just aren’t appropriate almost anywhere for me. I’ve traded in my dancing on bar tops for networking, traded in my binge-drinking booze for binge-drinking sugar free red bulls while putting in extra hours.
So I filled my suitcase with what was left in my closet after the purge; dress slacks, knee length cocktail dresses, chiffon sweaters, and plenty of scarves.
I rolled my suitcase into the airport and was greeted to a woman in her 80’s (?)…she was being escorted along in an airport provided wheelchair. Appearing a little confused with the processes of security, her head jerked quickly from side to side, not unlike a baby bird.
A crooked smile spread across my face (this usually happens when I try to stop a smile). The woman had a not so carefully crafted tuft of pink hair. I loved it!
I was so worried about looking too old to wear a certain item, wear certain makeup, or act a certain way, and this woman had complete freedom from any of these social stigmas!
I imagined at her funeral, her children, all wild and careless like herself, would talk about how mom was always herself, fun and free. All the way up to her death, mom dared to be different, dared to not care what others thought about her, dared to live by the philosophy that you are never too old.