Last week, I pored over a box of photographs from high school. Much of my childhood and teenage ephemera was lost in the floodwaters of Hurricane Katrina so what I do have is both precious and a reminder of all that is gone. I found dozens of packets of photographs. There was a time–I remember it so clearly–when you brought your film canister to the drugstore and had to wait days to get them developed. And when you did, it was often a genuine surprise what you would find. The memories were older because you didn’t take a picture of every single moment of life–just the ones you deemed worth remembering.
As I flipped through the photos, I was so touched to witness myself all these years ago, still so young and in formation. Dressed up to go to winter formal, posing backstage in costume and stage makeup with fellow cast members at plays, meandering London where I traveled to perform with my high school chorus. There were also snapshots of makeovers from sleepovers with friends, a selfie where I only captured the top half of my face. I felt such tenderness for this girl, who was doing her best to shape her life and make friends and be herself. Who was trying so hard to figure out who herself was.
I remembered, too, how hard I was on that girl, how demanding. I remember how clumsy she felt walking through the halls, how ginormous she felt compared to the models on the cover of every magazine, how she had all these questions about how to do life right. I could see how askew she was in her mindset. She was vibrant, beautiful, talented, and kind.
The day before my forty-fifth birthday, I went for a swim at a local pool. As I swam laps, I felt the differences in my body from years ago and the familiar critical thoughts arose in my head.
And then, I thought of that girl I was. I thought of how mean my mind was to her sometimes in the name of protection. I thought of how hard I pushed her at times when she only needed tenderness. I thought of how, years from now, as an elder, I would feel the same way about myself in this moment. Why was I so hard on her?
So I decided to try, at least in that moment, to be kinder. To give myself the grace of my own careful attention.
I was talking to a friend about the experience of finding those old photos and said it was like I was an auntie to myself, looking back with such care and love for this younger version of myself. To have reached the age to be able to have perspective like this is a privilege, I know. And alongside all the fears that come with aging inside a culture that hates aging and particularly hates women who age, I feel a gratitude to be here.
When I was young, middle-age felt so ancient to me. But now that I have arrived, I feel confused and disoriented because I still very much feel like a beginner. Having more years of experience does not mean I have it all figured out, as I suspected in my youth. What I find is that I have even more questions. And knowing more sometimes makes life harder and decisions more complicated. I miss the brazenness of my twenties sometimes. But then I remember how hard they were–I was often consumed by self-doubt, I didn’t know how to manage my anxiety or intense emotions, I was plagued by a desire to fit in at all costs. Each phase of life comes with its gifts and its challenges.
Today, I was listening to the podcast Wiser Than Me where Julia Louis Dreyfous interviews women she deems “wiser than me.” In this episode, she was talking to celebrated author Isabel Allende who is now eighty. Allende told her she loved being eighty because she didn’t care about what others thought. There was no time for that. I also discovered while listening that she published her first book at 40, a year later than when Toni Morrison published her first book. She had written all her life as a journalist, but she said, this was completely different. These legends lived four decades before stepping into the beautiful legacy they would be most known for.
In a culture that is terrified of mortality and death, aging is made to be something that is to be feared and dreaded. The beauty industry exists to inform us what our imperfections are and sell us things to fix them. This intensifies as we age. We are supposed to hold onto youth as long as possible. The conversations are about doing things while we are young. The fear pulsing behind is all the things we will age out of.
But what about the things we age into?
When I look at myself and the difference from even five years ago, I can see the ways things have shifted. I have a bigger container to hold uncertainty. I have managed to see and shift my perfectionism’s rigid grip on everything. I pursue the dreams and projects that matter to me because I am more willing to try even if it means failing. I hear the inner critic’s voice and recognize it from a mile away. I know who I am. I am less concerned about what is true for other people and more concerned about what is true for me. I can care for others better because I can better care for myself.
What has come from age is an unfurling of possibility. Instead of the narrowing of choices I was told was inevitable, I feel expansive.
Often, we hear the cliche of people aging like fine wine. And like all cliches, this one is repeated because there is a nugget of truth in it. In a culture of perpetual urgency and instant gratification, we don’t like to wait. We are impatient and want it now. We assess and judge so quickly. But with time comes flavor, comes distillation; with time comes the distinguishing notes, comes the textures and details we wouldn’t have known were missing before but now savor.
With my age, I also feel a sense of responsibility, one that feels more like a blessing or a charge than a burden or obligation. I have some years under my belt and I feel committed to continuing to use whatever skills and talents I have to help make things better for all of us. I don’t carry this with the bravado of my youth–where I went out chest forward, wide-eyed with a mission to change the world. I know I cannot change the entire world. I am aware of the enormity of pain and suffering and injustice. I am aware of how many people are needed and how much time and energy must be expended. I know that ripples move outward but move slowly.
But I also know that I can change something. I know I can work with others on common goals. I know I can change myself and how I show up in the world. I know that small things are often big things.
We are in a moment in our world where things are scary and so much is uncertain. It is easy to fall into despair. It is so easy to lose our place and to feel like what we the can do is not enough. But I also know that countless people have felt that way and have managed to be part of movements and make art and hold others through suffering and vision a better future even despite that. My heroes are the ones who walk broken hearted through the world looking for ways to mend it.
Writer Suleika Jaouad wrote, “Living means learning to hold the astonishingly beautiful and unbearably hard in the same palm.”
Here, in the middle, I’m thinking about all the past versions that reside inside. I’m honoring them and asking them to help me through this next part. To see the good. To hold the hard. To build with the people who want something better for all of us.
When I was a kid, I used to love the days where we did parachute in gym class. Apparently this was something that happened all across the United States during the time when I was in elementary school. The teacher unfurled the rainbow parachute on the ground and we all gathered around, grabbing hold of a part of the circle. We used the strength of our arms to lift the parachute up, we watched it ripple, we raised it high, we took turns running through the middle, then we sat down and held the wind inside with the weight of our bodies: looking across at one another, looking at the light shining down under the colored dome.
p.s. The afternoon after I wrote this, I went to see Inside Out 2, which I loved. I thought it was even more poignant and funny and resonant than the first one. And I can’t believe how many threads echo what I wrote here today. If you haven’t seen it, I strongly recommend it. For the young ones in your life. But also for the young one inside you.
I love this and really relate to what you wrote. I just discovered Julia Louis-Dreyfus’ podcast this week. So good ! Inside out next!