As much as I want to play the lady-like game of never revealing my true age, I must stop and wonder why would I do that? Why are we almost programmed to be ashamed of old’ish age?
«The youth will be served»
To be quite frank, I never understood the meaning of that saying, what does it even mean? Served what? Papers? Meals on a silver platter? Are you better because you’re younger? In my late teens and early 20s I felt like the world was mine to conquer. I had a roar in my belly and I climbed any and every mountain. I love seeing this spark in young people’s eyes today. And I remember and cherish the feeling.
When I see people that age without that desire I want to steal their youth away from them, what a waste!
This weekend, at a roller derby bout, I was asked by an announcer how old I was. When I told her, she said she wanted to incorporate my age in her trivia quiz to the audience. She remarked on how awesome it was that I was open to having her announce my age to the world.
There’s nothing awesome in that. Like I said, I don’t understand shame about old’ish age. I’m proud. Having pride in my age means being proud of my life, my accomplishments and who I’ve become as a woman.
I’m 48 years old. That’s two years shy of 50 – in case you’re not good at math. This is my new Facebook profile picture. It was taken on the night I was asked about my age.
I don’t assume my age equals higher wisdom. I do assume that who I am was built on hard work and determination. My mother taught me to stand up for myself, she taught me to be independent and autonomous. I believe my physical and psychological strengths are equal.
This image represents the essence behind my pride. Fifteen years ago I weighed 140 pounds, I gained over 25 pounds in a few months and was on a road to a 100-pound increase within a year. My dad’s tough love slapped me in the face, and I took a good hard look at myself. I joined a gym and a power swim club. I worked out 5 days a week and modified my eating habits.
I met Leo and followed him to the States where I was hired as a full time mechanic on his sprint car operation. Every night I lugged 10 5-gallon jugs of fuel hoisting them over the car. “Just do it” became my mantra as I learned a new trade in a man’s world. I did this for 5 years, when I was done my desire for something new wasn’t based on the fact it was a really hard job to do, but because it was too hard on the planet… Racing is doing everything possible to destroy the planet as fast as possible.
I’m 48 years old and I look at my muscle definition with pride knowing the years of hard work involved in shaping/building them. Wearing tank tops is fueled by pride.
My hands and face reveal my real age. Were I vain I’d invest in plastic surgery with a nip here and a tuck there. And I think this is where the line between pride and vanity is drawn.
What about you, do you reveal your real age? Where do you draw the line between pride and vanity?