I’m unclear as to why you don’t have a man in your life. Can I tell you how aggravating it is to hear that?
You’re gorgeous for your age, and your body is in great shape for your age, and you have the personality and demeanor of someone half your age…
Do you see any of those comments as compliments? Is there a certain thing you are supposed to be at a certain age?
Am I supposed to be wearing those polyester pants with the seam sewn in the front? Should I be sporting those white or poo brown orthopedic shoes? Should my hair be dyed a light hue of purple? Should I be sitting at Bob Evans on Sunday morning after church for the senior special?
Instead, I’m totally tatted and pierced. I wear jeans that my 28 year old daughter handed down to me. I’m a big fan of Chucks (Converse for you old folks that might not know that). I hang out with people half my age. I listen to music that definitely does NOT take me back to the “good ole’ days.” I like the idea of dating guys, yes, half my age!
So what does that make me in the eyes of a society that deems the number of years you are alive to be the determinant of who you are?
Well, there are some that say I’m having a mid life crisis, however, who the hell determines what mid life is? If you die at 40 it was at 20.
Isn’t the whole idea of living, to live? Why is there a state of mind that you have to give up and hang around waiting to expire? I can’t stand how judgmental people my age are of those that refuse to quit living. I’m enjoying the hell out of my life.
If I die today my mid life would have been at about age 26. I was married for the second time, had my second kid, an abusive husband not worth the skin he resided in, and I was working a mundane, life sucking job. Somehow that does seem like a crisis of sorts.
Right now, I’m single and loving the freedom that goes with it. I can do what I want, when I what, and don’t have to answer to anyone or ask permission to do it. I can dress however I want, sleep when I want, ah hell, the list is endless.
Above all else, at this time in my life, I’m ALLOWED to be an artist. There is no one holding me back from that dream anymore. Somehow I don’t see myself in a crisis.
I may be a broke ass writer that doesn’t own a house, is ass deep in debt, and one paycheck away from being out of my little artist loft, but dammit, I’m so happy to be outside of the fishbowl.
Understand? Just KEEP LIVING, cause the ride will be over sooner than you can fathom.