SuperWoman Feels Old

Now that SuperWoman is the ripe old age of 39, she’s been noticing some things about what it feels like to have a body that grows older, even at the same time as the inside of her feels young and lithe.

(Yes, she just used the word lithe. Ha.)

What’s SuperWoman’s age, on the inside? It’s like, 20, or something. (Or maybe she should make that 21, so that her inner self can still partake of wine.) Maybe it’s even 15–innocent and wide-eyed–as long as she doesn’t have to go back to high school again.

Still, on the outside there are these changes. Waking up in the morning, for one. Remember when SuperWoman made a vow that she was going to get up early and do yoga for 30 days? She failed miserably, which is why she didn’t talk about it afterward. She got up for two days in a row, and then she was back to the old routine, hitting snooze until the last possible minute, popping up and deciding whether a shower was really necessary before work. This reduction of energy, she assumes, is due to age.

And there are some other things she attributes to her aging body. The gray hairs on her head grow in faster, giving her hair this delightful yet muddied multi-colored tone. (She had once thought she’d go all gray in her 60s, but now she thinks that could happen much sooner.) There’s the ache in her thighs from walking up too many stairs. Her slower stride. The fact that her hair sticks up when she wakes up in the morning, and that she is content to look like a hobo with mismatching sweaters and wide-leg pants and socks on a Sunday morning while children play video games and she sits at her computer, sipping coffee. (Perhaps all she needs is a good pair of pajamas?) Also, even more disturbing, is that an extra pumpkin muffin or slice of pizza stays around her middle and makes her pants tight, and she has to eat next to nothing to remove those food items from production in her metabolism. She falls asleep at 8:30 pm while watching a teeny-bopper movie and gets yelled at by her son who wants her to stop sleeping. She can’t help it. It’s like a fog comes over her, like the air is filled with Benadryl.

But with age is wisdom, right? So as her body changes and deteriorates and starts to decay, the inverse—apparently—happens with her inner self. SuperWoman grows more established and esteemed and knowledgeable about the world and the ways of women and men.

Fat chance. She’s still just as confused as ever. And poor. And without any special titles.

Nope. What happens on the inside, SuperWoman has learned as she gets older, is that she gets more humble. That ego of hers gets smaller and she keeps learning to roll with the punches. This is a good thing, all the spiritual teachers will say. Maybe wisdom and grace don’t come from knowing so much, but in realizing how much you don’t know.

That sounds deep, but she’d still like her hair to stop frizzing and her muscles to feel strong and her appetite to match what helps her fit into her pants. So in the meantime, what will she do?

Make-up. Hair dye. Elastic pants. Meals with good friends where they talk about all they don’t know, but the experiences that have made life interesting. And dancing in her living room with her kids, because despite all the other bodily changes, dancing always feels good.


Image: “Dancing” by Moody Fotografi via Flickr. 

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