So I know I promised to write every week, and my bad. I don’t know, the weeks just fly by and before I know it, several weeks have passed, and I don’t know how that happens, but it does. So my deepest apologies. Although, I’m sure you can relate.
In any event, first things first, as promised, for those who care or may be interested, here’s my healthy living update: I can still go outside during severe wind gusts since I’m in no danger of getting swept away any time soon BUT I do think there have been some slight changes (if not massive weight loss) as a result of my newfound and profound commitment to health and wellness:
I feel better.
I no longer look like I lost the fight.
I have the occasional bursts of energy—just enough to swap out my closet, putting my sandals away for the winter, and organizing my shoes rack with my winter boots.
My cheekbones have started to emerge from a long period of hiding.
I’m sleeping like a normal person.
My cravings for white flour and sugar have subsided. In fact, the only thing I really crave is a vacation, the silver and crystal Chan Luu bracelet at Southmoonunder.com that’s now out of stock, and a pair of FABULOUS four-inch Tsubo black pumps that a) are way out of my shoe budget and b) would serve no real purpose in the spirit of my lifestyle. Getting rid of my food cravings is like being released from some digestive prison, some white dusty hell that gripped me without mercy, and almost resigned me to a life of distraction and preoccupation with things like chocolate layer cake, everything bagels, and Twix bars.
So thanks for my freedom, Dr. Mark Hyman, and thumbs up for your fantastical functional medicine. I think I’ll stick with it for a while and let’s see. Hey, anything can happen. Even thin knees…?
*Just in case you want to know what that commitment looks like, it includes eating mostly protein shakes, soy milk, brown rice, vegetables, and homemade broth; doing yoga every morning and about five days of cardiovascular interval conditioning. Sounds like hell, right? It’s not. In fact, I kinda like it.
With that said, I’d like to switch gears and talk about Sunday football. I don’t get it. Okay. There, I said it. Go ahead and send your letters. I know people love their football. Personally, I’d rather watch A Millionaire Matchmaker marathon or Revenge reruns (that show is so JUICY).
And yet, I guess that’s what makes the world go around – we’re all different. But football is starting to monopolize Sundays in the Murray household. After about 1 o’clock each week, I lose my husband to the television and his iPhone alternatively, ear plugs firmly in place, monitoring the scores of several games simultaneously, shouting the occasional expletive. I don’t get it. I mean, wouldn’t he rather be watching a good Lifetime movie and rubbing my feet?
Okay, so I’m avoiding the real subject here and that’s about this: I’ve got another birthday coming up quickly. And while it’s not the big one, it’s the prelude to the big one. Yep, I’m crawling quickly up the ass of 50 (December 2012) and I do NOT like it.
Frankly, I don’t think 50 is going to go well for me.
Now, it’s not like I’ve ever been all that hung up on my age. I still have no problem telling people how old I am. And I managed 30 and 40 well—like a big so what? I’m still young. I don’t take any prescription medications. And I do not qualify for membership in the AARP or need those really intense moisturizers that bill themselves as being for “mature skin”. I can still get a facial for pleasure instead of need.
But with the recent demographically charged barrage of media (e.g., advertisements for SeniorSingles.com, direct mailers for reverse mortgages and retirement planning, and ongoing AARP solicitations for membership, etc.), I’m not feeling so good about things. I’m getting old and there is no getting around it. (Well, there is, but let’s not even go there…)
After all, nobody ever looked at a 50-year-old woman and said, “Oh Dear (in a nice granny voice), you’re still just a kid.”
In fact, it’s starting to hit me that, with moving into the new decade comes with some serious ramifications that I have not yet had to deal with: Like not being able to wear my hair really long (which puts a serious dent in my desire for hair extensions), not being able to wear thigh-high boots, or sweater vests with fringe. Forget about glittery nail polish – not that I particularly like glittery nail polish, but I did enjoy the option of being able to wear it. Then there’s the having to be extremely judicious when going through the Free People catalogue, making sure any items of interest are first and foremost age appropriate. In fact, I find myself asking the very trendy 24-year-old who works in our department whether “this poncho is okay for me to wear at my age, this nail color works, this haircut isn’t too funky for somebody who’s riding over the crest of her 40s? ”
With the onset of age 50 also comes the first colonoscopy which puts the nail in the coffin of the concept that one’s youth now super officially officially behind them.
And then there’s something else that I’ve never even thought about: My worth as a professional in the job market. Why just this past week, my colleague and I went to a conference on social media in New York City (near the university which, with students everywhere, made me feel both exhilarated and ancient simultaneously). And during a conversation with the 50-something cab driver about the Occupy Wall Street protests, she said, “Well it’s about time. Because the fact is, if you’re over 50 and out of work, you can forget about it. You’re done for. You’ll never get hired again. You’re too oooollllddddd…..”
I heard that last part in slow motion. And as I nodded my head in foggy agreement (wondering if she could guess how old I was [I’ve been told I look mid to late 30s, but c’mon]), I couldn’t help but have a silent and all too thoughtful panic attack in response. What if it was true? I looked at my colleague, who I’m pretty sure is the same age (although she’s one of those people who’ll “never tell” which makes me crazy, like we need to hide it or apologize for it?), and she avoided my gaze. I was all on my own with that statement. And I’m still thinking of it, not sure whether to ignore it or take it to heart. (I’d much rather do the former…)
I mean, really?
What do you think? Once you turn 50, is it okay to dye your hair pink? Grow out your bob? Dare to send out a few resumes? What else lies in wait for this new decade? Help me out, people. Tell me something good about aging. And be quick about it …
Until next time!!