Guest Blog Post

In light of last weeks post, I thought it would be fun to have a guest post along the same lines by Deborah Chandler. I was amused by what she had to say, so of course, I had to include it.  And yes, I'm the person who talked her into the old lady track suit. I have my own, for which I have to say, I have a deep and abiding love.

So here you have it, a second opinion on middle age! 



Comfort? Yes, Please!

Being a non-traditional student on a very traditional campus, I find myself squirming as I observe the clothing options of my (albeit, much younger) classmates keeping up with the trends. I’m now old enough that what is worn today was in fashion in my young adult years. (I have nearly the same hairstyle as when I got married and it’s in style.) And I realize as I’m looking at these clothes two distinct ideas come to mind: one, I am uncomfortable; and two, I feel sorry for those wearing them. 

Now, I’m not uncomfortable seeing someone dressed like that, I’m uncomfortable because I remember how it feels to be dressed like that. It was uncomfortable. Tight clothes when you're young seems up-and-coming, flattering, maybe even sexy—but decades later after trying a few different fashion options you realize, it’s just uncomfortable. The perpetual queasy tummy, holding your breath to bend over and forget tying shoes. (You’ll notice an increase of slip-ons with tight clothes.)—No thank you.

One day while walking to class, I found myself feeling distinctly sorry for the girl walking in front of me as her clothes were so tight I thought, “Poor dear, can’t afford clothes that fit properly.” Then I started looking around and realized that was probably how she wanted to be dressed. And then I thought, “Poor dear.”

Recently, my older sister talked me into buying an old lady track suit—you know the type velour, zipper hoodie and so comfortable you sigh when you get dressed, then all became clear. Old ladies don’t dress like old ladies because they don’t have fashion sense, they just have enough sense to choose comfortable fashions. They’ve already put in their time with being pulled, tucked, squished and flaunted and decided, it’s all for the birds. They know that wearing something comfortable doesn’t make them less of a woman, it just makes them a happier one!

By Deborah Chandler 

Middle Age - The Best Years of My Life?

They lied to me.

They told me the only thing worth being is young, thin and attractive. They told me if I wasn't any of those things then my life would stink and wasn't worth living.

But what could I do? The years passed. Even though youth feels like it will last forever, it doesn't. I aged (gasp). I had kids (double gasp), I changed sizes (NO!).

So, I've kind of noticed something. My life doesn't stink. Not a bit, as a matter of a fact, it's better. You heard me. Better.

Maybe we're cute when we're younger because we're obnoxious and our cuteness keeps us from getting strangled.

Maybe youth is worshiped out of self preservation.

Whatever the reason, the media is lying to us when it portrays youth as the happy time. I don't know about you all, but for me, youth was the stupid time. I was so angsty and shallow I'm glad to be out of it. I seriously thought I knew it all. I was the expert on everything. I now know I never knew anything and I'm okay with that. Instead of being full of what I know, I am full of what I want to find out. It's liberating and exciting. Yep, I'm embracing my stupidity.

You know what else is liberating? Being old enough to laugh at the media for idolizing youth. To roll my eyes and smile because I know the media has nothing to do with real life. Society says this, Society says that, but Reality and Society don't know each other.

I am not obligated to be anything the media says I should be. It takes middle age for most of us to finally realize the full impact of this.


And let's not forget I've reached the age where what other people think of me is their problem, not mine. If I look old, frumpy and talk like an idiot what's that to me? I've gotten comfortable in my skin. It doesn't matter. I am who I am and I'm okay with who I am. (Toot, toot! I need a pipe to whistle into.)

I proclaim my liberty! I declare my independence from looking a certain way, dressing a certain way and acting a certain way, according to the dictates of whatever is considered the way to do things right now! I will do my own thing, dress my own way, and look like me!

I know, you're shocked. How dare anyone look like them? What kind of audacity does that take? I do not apologize for my behavior. And if middle age is this liberating what will old age be like? I'll be finding out in another 20 years. For today, I'm going to go wear my old lady track suit, eat chocolates, and read a novel. Tell me, could I have done that when I was young? No. Only does middle age afford such luxuries and they feel like luxuries because I still have so much work to do, it's just that I can have a break here and there. I love that. I'm not bored, but I can have breaks, isn't that the greatest? I could go on, but I don't feel like it, so I won't. See? That's what I'm talking about.

Middle age is the best.

I Know Nothing

This has been the learning pattern of my life:

Years 0-5: confidence and discovery

Years 6-14: uncertainty

Years 14-19: I'm smarter than my parents.

Years 20-29: I know everything.

Years 30-39: I was an idiot when I was in my twenties, NOW I know everything.

Years 40-49: I know nothing.

So the big question is: Do I ever get to be smart again?  Or is being stupid obligatory ever more after a person has teenagers?

I have to admit there is something illuminating, humbling and not just a little demoralizing about watching my cherished, fawned over babies become independent teenagers who are more than willing to shed childhood to become separate beings from their parents. Who gave them the idea they have minds of their own anyway? Rats. That would be me. What was I thinking????? I'm going to unleash these kids onto the world? Thinking for themselves??!!?? AAAAHHHHH!!!!!!!! (Guess it's a good thing they already know it all.)

What is this anyway? Didn't I already live through the teen years? Why do my kids have to do it too? Isn't there some kind of way to zap them over them? Can we skip those years and go straight to grand-babies?  I mean seriously, there's a pot of gold at the end of this rainbow right?