Aging Gracefully Is Not Going According to Plan
Apparently, getting older does not automatically come with wisdom, dignity or the ability to use a public bathroom without strategy.
I used to think there would come an age when I would finally have my shit together.
Not mostly together.
Not holding it together with dry shampoo and a decent bra together.
I mean really together.
I imagined becoming one of those effortlessly sophisticated older women who travels beautifully, knows exactly who she is, doesn't give a damn what anyone thinks and somehow always has the right scarf.
She probably drinks herbal tea.
Her home smells faintly of eucalyptus.
She doesn't have a junk drawer.
And I am almost certain she has never stood in a public bathroom waiting for someone to turn on the hand dryer so she could safely fart.
I have not become this woman.
Not even close.
And I'm starting to suspect she may not exist.
Aging Gracefully Looked Better in My Head
We're told to “age gracefully,” which sounds lovely until you actually start aging.
Because there's not a lot of grace involved.
Your body starts doing things without consulting you.
Hair disappears from places where you would prefer to keep it and starts appearing in places where hair has absolutely no business being.
You can hurt yourself sleeping.
Your metabolism apparently decides it has worked hard enough and would now like to pursue other interests.
You can spend an entire day feeling confident and sexy and then discover a chin hair in your car mirror that appears to have been growing since 1987.
Sexy.
Very sexy.
But that's the thing.
I still want to feel sexy.
I still like doing my hair. I like makeup. I like clothes. I like feeling strong. I like looking in the mirror and thinking, Okay, Amber.
I don't think getting older means we're supposed to stop caring about any of that.
I just don't think sexy and perfect are the same thing anymore.
Actually, I'm pretty sure they never were.
Public Bathrooms: Where Dignity Goes to Die
Travel has also taught me that sophistication has limits.
Travel photographs show women strolling through beautiful cities in flowing dresses.
Nobody photographs the rest-stop bathroom.
You know what I'm talking about.
You walk into the stall.
You look at the toilet.
The toilet looks at you.
And immediately you know:
We will not be making physical contact today.
So you hover.
Feet planted.
Pants down.
Quads engaged.
Core activated.
This is why women should strength train.
Forget bikini season.
Train for public toilets.
Then comes the sound situation.
Why are we embarrassed to make bathroom noises IN A BATHROOM?
Everyone knows why we're in there.
And yet we're waiting.
Someone flushes?
Maybe.
Someone washes their hands?
Not loud enough.
Then suddenly you hear it.
THE HAND DRYER.
GO!
THIS IS YOUR MOMENT.
It's completely ridiculous.
It's also completely normal.
And that's becoming one of my favorite things about getting older: realizing how much of the weird shit I thought was just me is actually all of us.
Sometimes Graceful Looks Like Being Naked on a Dock
Then there was the boat.
I'd docked our boat alone for years. I knew what I was doing.
One evening at dusk, a gust of wind changed everything.
I ended up in the water between the boat and the dock.
My dress went over my head.
I couldn't see properly.
The boat was moving, and I was terrified I was going to be crushed between it and the dock.
For a few moments, this wasn't an embarrassing Amber story.
It was scary.
I thought I could drown.
People eventually managed to pull me from the water, sliding me up against the dock and bruising me even more in the process.
And somewhere during this elegant rescue operation...
my dress ceased participating.
So there I was.
Terrified.
Bruised.
Wet.
Alive.
And basically naked.
If someone wants to make a brochure about aging gracefully, I volunteer that photograph for the cover.
Starting Over Isn't Just for Young People
The bruises disappeared.
The fear didn't.
It took me about three years before I could comfortably go back out alone with my husband on the boat.
Something I'd once done without thinking suddenly caused real anxiety.
Even now, I sometimes feel it.
But there's less panic.
And I think that's one of the biggest lies we tell ourselves about getting older:
We shouldn't have to start over anymore.
Why not?
We start over constantly.
Careers.
Relationships.
Fitness.
Friendships.
Homes.
Dreams.
Confidence.
Our bodies.
Our identities.
Sometimes even things we thought we'd already mastered.
I had to start over with boating.
And getting back on didn't mean I wasn't scared.
It meant I didn't want fear deciding that part of my life was over.
Maybe that's what confidence actually looks like sometimes.
Not:
I'm not afraid.
But:
I'm afraid, and I'm still here.
I'm Never Going to Figure It All Out
This may be one of the best things I've finally accepted.
I'm never going to have everything figured out.
There will probably never be a magical Tuesday when my body, career, marriage, house, finances, friendships, confidence, hair and emotional well-being are all simultaneously operating at peak performance.
Usually when one area looks spectacular, another one is quietly on fire.
That's life.
And I'm getting tired of treating that as some sort of personal failure.
We're still messy.
We're still learning.
We're still starting over.
We still want to feel hot.
We still embarrass ourselves.
And yes, sometimes we're still waiting for the public bathroom hand dryer to turn on so nobody hears what's happening in stall three.
Welcome Back to the Wild Side of Normal
Years ago, when I first started writing Sex’n’Fries, I called this place The Wild Side of Normal.
I think I understand that phrase better now than I did when I wrote it.
Because normal isn't nearly as polished as we've been led to believe.
Normal is loving your body one day and criticizing it the next.
Eating well and then ordering the fries.
Working out religiously and then disappearing for two weeks before declaring, I'll start again Monday.
Being madly in love with someone and occasionally wondering why they have to chew like that.
Feeling confident and insecure.
Being brave and scared.
Knowing better and doing it anyway.
Laughing until you pee a little.
Crying when you didn't expect to.
Starting over at an age when you thought you'd finally be finished starting.
That's the wild side of normal.
Maybe This Is Aging Gracefully
I don't want to spend the rest of my life trying to make aging look pretty.
I want to actually live it.
I want to travel.
I want to laugh loudly.
I want to feel sexy.
I want to take care of my body because I have more places I want it to take me.
I want to get back on the boat.
I want adventures.
I want stories.
I want to make mistakes.
I want to be 70 and excited about something I haven't tried yet.
I want to be 80 and still curious.
And if I make it to 90, I sincerely hope I'm still capable of being wildly inappropriate.
I don't need to become the perfectly polished woman I once imagined.
Because maybe being hot was never supposed to happen without the mess.
Maybe aging gracefully isn't about getting everything right.
Maybe it's about getting older without becoming so afraid of looking ridiculous that you stop living.
So here's to the wrinkles.
The chin hairs.
The fresh starts.
The public-bathroom squats.
The things that scare us.
The things we try again.
The beautiful days.
The absolute shitshows.
And, obviously...
the fries.
We're aging gracefully.
Just not very gracefully.
And I think I prefer it that way.
Aging Gracefully Is Not Going According to Plan
Listen to Episode 36 of Sex’n’Fries: Aging Gracefully as a Hot Mess, where I talk about getting older, starting over, fear, feeling sexy, public-bathroom survival and accepting that none of us is ever going to have this whole thing completely figured out.
Stories from the wild side of normal.
And always remember...
Stay sexy. 💋🍟
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