Recently, during a flight to Chicago, a young woman in her twenties addressed me as “Ma’am.” I was traveling to reconnect with a remarkable group of women I had met in graduate school, who humorously called themselves the Dowagers long before they ever resembled any such title. Back then, I was among the older students, yet I was only in my thirties and certainly not referred to as “Ma’am.”
As I sat on the plane, this bright-faced young woman with perfect skin casually assumed that the term “Ma’am” applied to me. While I had encountered this term before, her polite yet distant demeanor was unsettling. “Excuse me, Ma’am,” she said, as she navigated past me to her window seat, seemingly cautious not to disturb my older bones.
Unlike many, I was not invisible to her; I was perceived as someone fragile and from a different generation. It was a stark reminder of age. I chuckled about this incident later that weekend with the Dowagers, sharing it on social media. I thought it was amusing that such a young girl viewed me as old. Yet, when I looked in the mirror, the hollows of my face and the lines of time confronted me, making me realize that I didn’t see this aging image when I envisioned myself.
In graduate school, I often felt older than my classmates, who were embarking on their professional journeys straight out of college. I was chasing my own dream, one that had emerged only after I acknowledged that my previous career as an entertainment lawyer was a misstep. The Dowagers formed in my second year, and although I was often traveling between Iowa City and Los Angeles, I connected deeply with these women, who were experienced professionals from diverse backgrounds.
Years later, as we gathered in Chicago, we were closer to embodying the title of Dowagers. Our hair had grayed, and our faces bore more lines. While we had achieved our dreams of becoming writers, we also had taken on roles as wives, mothers, and trusted professionals. We had faced various challenges and triumphs, and while time had worn us down, the essence of our individuality and kindness remained intact.
Despite the lightheartedness of the reunion, the encounter on the plane still lingers with me. I don’t yearn for my youth; instead, I appreciate the wisdom that comes with age. I find joy in caring less about my appearance and embracing my candid self. However, the insecurities of youth—the doubts about my worth, the desire to make my parents proud, and the need for guidance—still echo within me.
I never thought I would feel this young while aging. My past selves—the perfect little girl, the demanding teenager, and the woman who chose an uncertain path—continue to swirl within me. I’m now a mother to a boy who comforts me during my moments of frustration, reminding me to reset and start anew.
During our reunion, we shared our experiences of parenting, relationships, and balancing careers with family, all while enjoying moments of joy and laughter. We found ourselves swooning over dance performances from films like Magic Mike XXL, yet we discussed the importance of the messages these portrayals send to our children.
The complexities of youth and age coexist within us. Accepting the entirety of our experiences, both good and bad, is perhaps the true gift of aging. It allows us to embrace the many layers of our lives and the various selves we have been.
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In summary, navigating the complexities of aging while still feeling youthful is an experience many of us share. The memories of our past selves continue to shape us, and acceptance of this multifaceted journey is essential for embracing our true selves.
Keyphrase: aging and youth
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