Superpower?
As a woman ages, a new special ability becomes apparent: the power of invisibility. Whereas before men would leer, catcall, and stare on the regular, now they walk right past without ever getting in a lady's way. It can be very liberating.
For some women, this is an utter disaster. Those who were raised to believe that the best and most important thing about them was the way they looked- that being attractive to men was the ultimate goal. I've read more than one essay by some sad woman in her mid-40s who is simply devastated to no longer literally turn heads.
Me, I grew op believing I was smart but not pretty. If I blossomed later into a nice looking girl, it wasn't anything that registered. Men do not tend to swoon in my presence. So becoming really and truly invisible is not a tragedy.
In some ways, it's a superpower. You can go about your business in privacy and peace, unmolested. I'd say it has a direct correlation to the number of fucks one has left to give, which sharply diminishes with each passing decade- one of the true pleasures of getting older.
However, there's a flip side. And that's feeling unregarded. Not noticed, not thought of. I feel that all the more sharply at holiday times, when other people are planning parties and dinners with their favourite people. I'm no longer anyone's favourite person.
I feel unregarded in other ways. I never hear from my bestie Ed. He's busy working, it is true, but I send texts and occasionally handwritten letters, and the silence feels like he's forgotten me, or maybe thinks of me like a fond but distant mempory. Same with his ex-wife Paige, who I've seen exactly once since Christmas Eve, and that's only because I happened to be near her workplace and dropped in.
It's not that friends don't care for me, exactly- more that they have priorities, and I'm not on that list.
Some days, solo life suits me perfectly well while sailing around the city drinking in the sights and sounds. Other days, the sensation of being unregarded by those who know me and invisible to those who don't strikes somewhere between lonely and chilling. It's hard to explain.
Today is more the second kind of day, but it's my task by sheer force of will to get out of the house and see and do things, to make it a good day, or at minimum an okay one. It just takes a lot of energy. And I'm so, so tired.
Does this read like self-pity? It is not. Or at least, this is my truth as I live it. Maybe it's like the old question: is "I really want to draw you" a pick-up line if it's actually true? Possibly both.
For some women, this is an utter disaster. Those who were raised to believe that the best and most important thing about them was the way they looked- that being attractive to men was the ultimate goal. I've read more than one essay by some sad woman in her mid-40s who is simply devastated to no longer literally turn heads.
Me, I grew op believing I was smart but not pretty. If I blossomed later into a nice looking girl, it wasn't anything that registered. Men do not tend to swoon in my presence. So becoming really and truly invisible is not a tragedy.
In some ways, it's a superpower. You can go about your business in privacy and peace, unmolested. I'd say it has a direct correlation to the number of fucks one has left to give, which sharply diminishes with each passing decade- one of the true pleasures of getting older.
However, there's a flip side. And that's feeling unregarded. Not noticed, not thought of. I feel that all the more sharply at holiday times, when other people are planning parties and dinners with their favourite people. I'm no longer anyone's favourite person.
I feel unregarded in other ways. I never hear from my bestie Ed. He's busy working, it is true, but I send texts and occasionally handwritten letters, and the silence feels like he's forgotten me, or maybe thinks of me like a fond but distant mempory. Same with his ex-wife Paige, who I've seen exactly once since Christmas Eve, and that's only because I happened to be near her workplace and dropped in.
It's not that friends don't care for me, exactly- more that they have priorities, and I'm not on that list.
Some days, solo life suits me perfectly well while sailing around the city drinking in the sights and sounds. Other days, the sensation of being unregarded by those who know me and invisible to those who don't strikes somewhere between lonely and chilling. It's hard to explain.
Today is more the second kind of day, but it's my task by sheer force of will to get out of the house and see and do things, to make it a good day, or at minimum an okay one. It just takes a lot of energy. And I'm so, so tired.
Does this read like self-pity? It is not. Or at least, this is my truth as I live it. Maybe it's like the old question: is "I really want to draw you" a pick-up line if it's actually true? Possibly both.