I am of a certain age and I am approaching invisible. I am in the second act of life.
It is a long way from the first act. Youthful and glowing and careless. The first act got me noticed, but not always for the right things.
This second act is limbo. I am not young, I am not old. Sometimes men on the street smile. Older women always do. Kids bump into me. Most everyone calls me ma’am.
It is the sales girls who don’t see me anymore. Unless I am silly enough to cut through Neiman Marcus on my way to the street. Then I am preyed upon like a young gazelle. But that is a whole different world.
The young sales girls in the funkier shops rarely give me a second glance. I am still hip and funky in my own head. True, I’m wearing yoga pants and an old sweater, but I still need/want/desire the overpriced beauty products and pretty things they are selling. I wonder why they think I don’t still need/want/desire the same stuff in the second act. I’m quite sure I will need/want/desire the same pretty things in the third act as well.
I am not mourning my youth, I am examining my middle age. It is the state of being neither here nor there. I fit in the junior department sizes but I cannot wear the fashions. When I swerve toward my daughter’s department she reminds me with a clear command to “Step away from the junior department, Mom.”
The fashions that are geared to women of a certain age are frumpy and dowdy. They don’t know me. They don’t know me at all. I tell myself, “Step away from the women’s department, Joan.” Yoga pants and sweaters are my reluctant fashion choice. It is my middle- aged uniform.
The bus driver on my morning commute has not offered me the senior citizen discount which I take as a good sign. But he does not joke and say he missed me when I didn’t ride his bus for a week. He asks the young girls where they have been when they miss a day on his route. It’s OK. I’m not looking for male attention. I’m just noticing how it isn’t there anymore.
I have worn sensible shoes all winter. I feel short and sexless in them. There is something about the shoes I wore in the first act that added some much- needed confidence. My mother preached sensible shoes and here I am for the first time listening to her. My mother accepted invisible. I apparently do not.
I am not writing about sex or men or even attractiveness. I am simply pondering the second act. The potential it has to send me on the way to a place called Invisible.
The funny thing about the second act is that I forget I am in it most of the time. It takes an unacknowledged jostle on the sidewalk or a salesgirl’s slight to remind me.
Maybe this second act is the act where women stop being seen and start being heard. I am going to give this some serious thought. And get myself some not so serious shoes.
Joan Haskins | Contributor
Joan Haskins is a teacher living in Washington, D.C. with her husband. Her daughter has recently gone off to college leaving Joan to figure out what to do with all that space inside her head.
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6 Responses
To me Joan age is never a situation to be pondered over.
You are the same person you were yesterday.
Yes, a brilliant writer, yesterday, tomorrow and forever.
The shoes.. well what can I say?
Dear Joan, I think your questioning of stages of life is very well done, but personally, the second act is the best one of all. You should be enjoying it rather pondering or worrying for what’s ahead. You say “I am still hip and funky in my own head.” Isn’t that what really matters? Age is a frame of mind; you look and radiate what you feel. As a woman, you are at your full bloom and potential – you have ‘arrived’. That is not dependent on being noticed by the bus driver, sales girls or other irrelevant outside factors. It’s a celebration that should emanate out of you. So wear what you want, what you feel comfortable or good in – it’s all outside dressing, my dear. Celebrate your Act Two – you are not alone.
This is a beautiful piece. I am not being snarky when I say this, but it is difficult for me to relate to this. I am one of those people wiht a “good personality” as in “date my sister, she has a good personality.” Because of my looks I’ve been mostly invisible my entire life. I think this is why I became a writer because the judgment is about the words. Those who can’t see your inner beauty probably weren’t worth knowing anyway. Excellent writing, well told.
I havea friend who is nearly 20 years younger than I am. One day I was lamenting the invisible feeling I was having myself, Joan. You know what she said to me? “You are kidding, right? You are still blooming. People are so drawn to you, you almost never have to reach out. You are far from invisible.” You asked about the third act. I’m in it and maybe I am less visible that I was in Act I, but that has allowed me to sharpen my own vision of the things around me. It’s great.
As I read the words echo around and around inside my head. I think one reason it affects us so is because we don’t think about it. It’s those gentle reminders that send me into a tail-spin…
Beautifully expressed, as always. Hope you don’t mind if I repost on Facebook. I know a lot of women who will relate to you and your words.
I am right there with you, Joanie, and not going lightly into that dark night. Yet I still look at you and see nothing but pure relevancy and ultra-hipness. Perhaps that is because I am making a concerted effort not to mourn the loss of my youth and have replaced that sensitivity with an awareness of how I fail to measure up by even the dowdy standards of middle age! You are so beautiful and astonishingly eloquent. To be so accomplished and still hold that air of youthful curiosity and enthusiasm is a feat we should all aspire to. Your writing is flawless.