On the humor of middle age

or standing at the center of the sun

Disclaimer: This short, meandering essay has nothing to do with the solar eclipse.

For over a week, all I wanted to do was sleep. I dozed off during the final resting pose in yoga class and on my couch while reading. My body temperature began to oscillate from its rather chilly default to the sort of internal heat I only knew from my few (mal)attempts at plyometrics a decade ago.

“You’re at that age. Women who are nearing menopause often have these symptoms.” My doctor, a patient but no-nonsense man, suggested supplements. 

Over the next few weeks, I tried to find answers. The supplementation helped with my energy but not my body temperature. I marveled at the fierce surges of heat and began to find humor in the fact that Chris needed a scarf in the snow.

“What’s wrong, honey, are you cold?” I’d ask, laughing, coat unzipped.

After reading over a dozen articles about hormonal changes in women around my age, I learned nothing. At forty-four, the internet told me, the rhythms of my body were resetting, and there were many “cures” for aging.

I saw promise after promise about how I could stay young if only, I tried Botox ®, Pilates, took a magic collagen pill, floated in a sensory deprivation tank, meditated two hours a day, etc.   

The more I realized I didn’t want to click, the more I took the news of this shift in stride, maybe even enthusiasm. Where was the article that said I was going through normal changes? Where was the celebration? What if this whole “you’re at that age” thing was correlated to the other shifts I’d recently noticed as well?—the unabashed honesty when someone asks me how I am, the lack of caring how polite I am when saying no to inconsiderate requests, the humor I feel around things that used to cause me anxiety, such as being a few minutes late or admitting I don’t remember a person’s name?

I wanted to read something that reflected the idea that aging just is, that there is balance with transition and transitions help us grow and redefine ourselves. Sure, I might sometimes feel as though I am standing at the center of the sun. But standing at the center of the sun is also powerful.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m not romanticizing the perils of a middle-aged body. Supplements and stretching are great, and feeling healthy is the order of the day, but for this human body, I welcome change. And for the wellness of this woman’s psyche, I am grateful for it.

So much of women’s lives are summarized by their ability, likelihood, or desire to reproduce. We measure this economically and argue about it politically. Where we live in the world, what religious doctrine or healthcare restrictions have been thrust upon us, how many babies are needed to reach economic quotas, how “attractive” we appear according to some limited standards, and whether or not we are allowed rights to our reproductive organs—it’s all exhausting. So the release of all this societal pressure is no small thing.

I recently learned about the Cailleach—a divine older woman, according to Celtic mythology. She is said to have created the mountains. She brings the storms of change and has earned every right to arrive without apology or hesitation because she understands the necessity of cycles. She embodies them. She doesn’t care if you call her a hag because she knows things must be destroyed to be reborn.

As a middle-aged woman, I finally experience the world as someone who can honestly say she’s seen a thing or two. I can pay attention to and find gratitude for what is exponentially greater than it once was. As a middle-aged woman, I no longer have time for the trivial things. I’m ready for my rite of passage. I welcome it with open arms.

While aging slows us down, it also brings a fierceness, and I see it now—this potential I couldn’t even imagine before. I’m not deterred by ageism or trading one discomfort for another because I feel the necessity of this shift.

I’ve felt pressure to look or be a certain way my whole life, and age, to me, comes with permission and an invitation to say no thank you. I’m good. I’m better than good. I’m standing at the center of the sun.

Now someone get me a fan.

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This short essay, which has nothing to do with the eclipse, was fun to write. I wrote about writing it here, and accidentally posted it a week early (but here we are).