About my age...

Very early on, we are thought not to ask an older person her age. It is impolite. Especially women.

Have you ever wonder why? Well, we worship youth in America. You have to be young. Or you don't matter. Perhaps that has something to do with it.

Do you follow that rule all the time? I don't.  I am fascinated by age.

I am 45.
I do not lie about my age.
Never.
I don't mind people asking me.
Never did.

Maybe the fact that people usually do not believe I am 45 helps. But still.

I am 45. I feel like 30. Really.

Do I like growing older? Not sure... maybe because 45 falls into an abyss.

However, I like it better than the actual only alternative: dying young.

It's just that I am in that awkward phase... an age between ages... an age where most women fight to stay young or look younger, an age where you take off 10 years of your actual age - or you seem like you gave up. An age that is not really accepted in our society - look at books, movies TV shows here in America...

But I am 45: too old to be young and to young to be old.
The invisible non-existent woman.

Why can't we introduce people by name and age? People should be as proud to give their age as they are to give their names.

I know age is just a number. But in today's life quite a meaningful one.

I guess what I am trying to say is why not try and make room for people of every age in our society?  Just let us, middle age women, live, not ashamed of our age, changing hair color,  appearing wrinkles and changing bodies... let us accept that phase as a normality, as something that is desirable and should be celebrated! Life is so much easier when you don't feel the pressure to fit into an impossible-to-fit-in mold...

I am afraid that if we don't accept ourselves at 45, there will be no more lovely old ladies eventually.  You can't go from looking 25 to 70 overnight... That doesn't make sense.

Chloe 💜&✌