Playing catchup with reality

Despite the title of this blog, I have rarely jumped to the heart, but a humbling 24 hours has pushed me.

I look in the mirror and see:  Susan.
Others look at me, and see a senior citizen.
It's not just the last 24 hours.  There was the woman at the gym who didn't understand why I hadn't considered Silver Sneakers exercise classes. The aqua aerobics instructor who asked if I was going to the luncheon at the Senior Center.
Then, yesterday, the eye doctor who said my blurry vision was caused by cataracts.  
Cataracts?! I gasped.  People my age get cataracts???
Yes, he nodded, scanning my chart for my age, 50% of people over 62 have cataracts.*
I'm 58; but to him, I am appropriately aged for cataracts.
Today at the coop, the cashier cautiously wondered if I'd be using the Tuesday discount.
What discount?
For seniors, she explained, over 62.
My perception of myself has clearly not caught up with reality.
Reality gallops apace, while I remain: Susan.

*FWIW: I checked the NIH statistics. Only 15.54% of 62-year-olds have cataracts.  Among white people my age, the rate is 8.84%.

More is less

Image by Getty Images via Daylife

I'm a long-time subscriber to More magazine, which tells me it is "for women of style & substance"

So why is Dana Delany on the cover, shirt unbuttoned, bra showing, kneeling on what looks to be a bed?
That's style and substance?
It's bad enough that every issue tells me to reinvent myself. Apparently I'm not ok as I am.
But everyone in every issue is now indistinguishable from everyone in every other women's magazine.
More is supposed to be for women over 40. Who are 50, even. Or -- dare I say it -- 60.
In fact, the More website says they celebrate women over 40. So why do they all look 30? Smooth brows. Unwrinkled cheeks. Botox, restylane, whatever it takes not to look 40. That's what's celebrated in these pages

I'm not renewing, my face or my subscription.

Ms. Erree

Image via Wikipedia

Why the loon? Because I must be crazy to live here.
Just a soupcon of snow and cold elevate my threat level to red. Between my Reynaud's Syndrome, my Seasonal Affective Disorder, my fear of winter driving, my propensity for falling (not to mention my tendency to drama) - my personal department of homeland security says WHAT THE H*LL ARE YOU DOING HERE?!?*

Yes, we have a "higher standard of living", tho' short-sighted IR politicians are doing their best to short-circuit it. And even with its warm weather, the Lone Star State doesn't hold a candle to the North Star State.

But if I can't get my hands and feet warm; if I can't get enough sunshine; if I have to drive everywhere even in inclement weather; what's the point? It's not going to get easier as I get older. It's hard to imagine my golden age here.

Books and their covers

By now, everyone's seen Susan Boyle, the over-40 singing sensation from Britain's "You've Got Talent" show.
She's the new poster child for "You Can't Judge a Book By Its Cover" ; the antithesis of every 40-something woman on reality TV: un-retouched, un-botoxed, uncut by cosmetic surgery, unassuming, unpretentious, yet wonderfully talented.

Who woulda' thunk? Not Simon Cowell or any of the audience members caught rolling their eyes.

As I left a new media group this morning, I realized that to the assembled interactive marketers, I looked like Susan Boyle; over-40, unpretentious, un-retouched, unbotoxed, entirely forgettable. Wonderfully talented, but they'd never know because my packaging is so... un-remarkable; overweight, middle-aged, just plain. They don't even see me. I'm invisible to them.

So they won't hear me sing.