THE INVISIBLE PLANE
Remember Wonder Woman’s invisible plane? We used to laugh at it because even though the plane was invisible, Wonder Woman wasn’t and it seemed like a blatant error in media judgement. For some reason though we accepted the artistic liberty of it and just went with the story line.
We sat around my front porch this past Friday eve and the dinner table last night drinking Proseco and cold French white wine eating clam cakes from Quitos and shrimp cocktail from Blount Seafood. We had our lawn chairs on the sidewalk waiting for the British Car Show parade that for the second time never came down past our street causing us lots of discussion and laughter among friends. Mostly women with the exception of three very secure men, sharing company and stories, connecting in the way friends do who have made each other’s lives more humbled and joyful in a familial sort of way. We ranged in age from early fifties to mid seventies and talked about everything from town politics and pets to great restaurants, travel and of course our children and the aging process. We all had our say in the sagging of our skin, the bloating of our midsections, the changing of our hair textures and the subject of invisibility.
My personal perch of owning a business that mostly connects with women as its main profile are the daily conversations we have- rich with truth and wisdom that only aging can produce. “We can’t eat like we used to.” “Should I keep coloring my hair or let it go natural?” “What is the recipe for….?” We all feel lucky, blessed, privileged and for the most part are a happy lot who have dealt with the blows living a full life gives us. We rise up and stand up and with the wisdom of retrospect that only aging can really give us, seize the day and squeeze the most out of life knowing that it is all just a speck on the planet.
One common stream of commentary is the subject of invisibility, not being noticed as we once were. What does being noticed even mean and what does being noticed even have to do with how we move through our days? It seems to be that our aging bodies and skin no longer gets the head turning or the shout outs from the construction workers as we walk by them on our way to the coffee shop. At one point in our more youthful lives, these hoots and hollers were actually uncomfortable, but oddly externally validating as young women who didn’t realize in their youth that post babies it would come to abrupt ending sooner than later.
Does being invisible mean not being noticed by our male counterparts at the rate we in our younger lives were accustomed to? I don’t think this is what we were talking about because let’s face it if we needed that for self validation we need more therapy than we ever thought. Invisibility is more subtle, and I can’t really put it into words but here is the part of it that I like. The freedom of it. The glorious liberation of putting on my bathing suit and going to the beach with all of the bloat, the scars, the lopsided boobs and knowing that the only person I need to please is the one wearing the bathing suit. The freedom of answering to one person, me, making decisions about my life, my investments, my finances and spending and savings habits. The choices of where and when to travel, when to write or exercise or cook and shop. If invisibility means that I get to live the rest of my days in my own invisible plane flying with my own compass, then I will take it. I like the notion that the truths and wisdoms that can only happen with age and life experiences also equate with being under the radar and not having to justify my space on the planet to anyone but myself.
The women I am blessedly connected with are finding themselves in this unique story too and there is a coming out while going in that makes our connections so much more special and valid. We fly solo but together as we continue to unveil more of our truths and vulnerabilities the deeper we are in each other’s company. If this is what becoming invisible means, Yep. I’ll take it.