Skip to main content

Being Invisible

A woman of my age has often entered a new stage in her life. Her children are all in school or perhaps married off or at college. She looks at herself in the mirror and sees that middle age has crept upon her and very soon she will be alone with nothing to do. All. Day. Long. And middle age doesn't look as old as it did when her mom was in her forties. And she's not quite ready to pick up the knitting needles and create shawls for her grandchildren so she decides to get a job. But the job market stinks so she decides to finish that college degree she never intended to finish because she only went to college to find a husband.


Such is the case of Tiffany, my friend from high school. We met up again in the middle age section of Costco (produce) and she told me how her twins are married and her oldest son is in college and how she will graduate in April with her M.S.W. 

It's what women of my age do. 

So how is it going back to school after twenty years, I ask.


This is where our lives and experience intersect. Neither of us know when it happened but we found we have become invisible - no longer a person of substance. 

When I was in graduate school, there was Candace, Anne, Mike, Marina and RaeAnn. We were the younger crowd that studied together. Jeri happened to be 42 but we recognized a young soul and forgot she was old.

Then there were the peripheral students. I know this because there were twelve people accepted into the program. I vaguely remember their faces but I don't remember their names. One woman put her degree on hold because she discovered she was pregnant. We laughed with her because she was 41 years old. Then there was the old and balding guy who was going through his second divorce and the eccentric lady nobody wanted to sit near because she passed gas and we could barely contain ourselves due to fits of laughter. Besides those facts, I couldn't pick them out of crowd. They were old. They were in the 40s. They were invisible.

As this revelation dawned on Tiffany and me we realized we weren't complaining. It is somehow so liberating. I used to dread putting gas(oline) in the car because I was sure to get cat calls or some guy in a really big truck (overcompensating) hit on me. 

No more. About a year ago I went to church in shoes that didn't match. I only noticed it because they sounded different with each step I took. I glanced down and gambled that nobody would notice. I was right.


What would have mortified me and would surely have been prosecuted by the social faux pas attorneys is largely ignored. I can wear socks with sandals (I don't) or forget my bra (I do) and it doesn't matter. I wonder if it ever did.


When I take my 15 year old out in public, she will tell me she's just not ready and run to do whatever she has to do and then she comes out looking exactly the same to me. I can't help but wonder if the frizzy permed hair and the curled permed hair looked the same to my mother when I was a teenager. If so, how many bad haircuts did I needlessly cry over? How many hours did I spend trying to match the shade of pink or purple EXACTLY so my shirt and pinstripe pants went together? How many people cared or remember that I had a scratch on my face for my sophomore class pictures so I didn't buy them that year (courtesy of my baby cousin, Paul, the doctor).


There are times I wish I were more visible like when I'm suffering and I need someone to provide comfort. But those are moments that are not so evident; no telltale signs of different shades of fuchsia or a flat chest to set off the attention alarms.


Instead we recognize the lines on each others' faces in the produce section of Costco and recognize that our experience has exalted us to a different realm. We are women of substance.




  

Comments

  1. I love this post. And I love the new blog looks!

    ReplyDelete
  2. We may be invisible, but we are of substance. Like the girders that help hold up a skyscraper, we are invisible, yet vital.

    We're strong, we're invincible...we're woman!

    Cue Helen Reddy...

    ReplyDelete
  3. We got it going on. Except now nobody notices. So true!

    ReplyDelete
  4. great post! I am certainly at that time of life when I ask, now what?

    I love the fact that no matter what I choose to do now, I AM A WOMAN OF SUBSTANCE!

    ReplyDelete
  5. I do enjoy the part about not having to worry about getting cat calls every time you walk past a construction site. I always hated that!

    =)

    ReplyDelete
  6. I liked reading this...I think of this on and off as I get older, and things change.

    ReplyDelete
  7. Dude. I am still not used to this substance-y deal. When I look in the mirror that reflects an age I do not feel yet, I try to flash-forward to a time where I will see pictures of my self from now and remark at how young I was.

    (Aside - Mammogram? Just asking.)

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

The Most Dreaded Words

 Everybody knows that Christmas is about keeping the Santa Secret and pleasing your children. Therefore, the most dreaded words are uttered on Christmas Eve. "I changed my mind, I want a [pony, scooter, bike, Red Rider BB gun]" A close second place winner is, "Can I have a New Year's Eve party?" Then, "Me, too?"

Too Sick to be Sick

I am sick.  Really and truly sick.  I even took a sick day and felt no guilt whatsoever that maybe I wasn't sick enough to have a "sick day."  Because I am.  My 5 year old was sick, too so I took him to the doctor.  I refuse to acknowledge that I'm sick because I don't get sick.  So with absolute glee, my little boy climbed up onto the table, stuck out his tongue and conversed with the doctor.  I heard something about cloudy ears and antibiotics and then I just turned it off. It hurts when sound reaches my eardrums. We drove back home, I turned on the television, brought in the dog, and let the babysitting begin.  I crawled back into bed and swam somewhere between consciousness and unconsciousness.  The kids came home from school.  I might have acknowledged them.  I made chicken noodle soup from scratch.  I couldn't even think.  My husband caught me in a sway and asked what he could do.  I grunted some terse instructi...

What We Eat

Check out the good looking crew.  Just to clarify.  I'm the pretty one. There's a little mountain resort in Northern Utah that is invaded every July by this group of people. We are an intimidating bunch. 5 years ago my brother brought his Nepalese bride to the United States.  She lived in a country where she had no expectation to ever drive a car.  She bought her food daily from the market and ate it.  She taught English, although her accent was so strong when she arrived I questioned her grasp of the language.  We tried to be friendly and accepting.  We ended up scaring the daylights out of her. She thought we were crazy.  Her words, not mine. Although I think she tolerated me a little better than the others because I had the brand new fair-haired baby that she continued to steal.  She wanted a blond haired, blue eyed baby and wondered what her chances were now that she married an American. We take turns cooking for the family dinners. ...