The life of a woman after forty is full of amazing discoveries. Much of what was important a couple of years ago loses all meaning for us. What really matters is what we didn’t even pay attention to before.
We suddenly realize that unexpectedly appearing gray hairs are not an accident. Do you really have to color your hair now? At this age, many have to admit that a stylish haircut looks better than the usual, but no longer looking particularly attractive ponytail. And, by the way, pigtails also for some reason do not paint. Weird. After all, it always seemed that the years would take their toll only if we are talking about others, and we will always be young, fresh and without a single wrinkle …
Our body — what it is now — is the same, ideal. And there won’t be another
A few years ago, it seemed to us that we needed to try a little, and we would finally, once and for all improve it: it would become the body of a dream and grow legs from its ears by itself. But no, it won’t! So the task of the next decades sounds a little less ambitious: we treat ourselves with care and try to keep the functionality longer. And we rejoice, rejoice, rejoice that we are still in a solid mind and relatively sound memory.
By the way, about memory. A very strange item. Most vividly, her frills appear when reminiscing about her youth. “I got divorced? And what was the reason? Did I suffer? I broke up with a few friends? And why?» No, if I strain, then, of course, I will remember and conclude that all decisions were correct. But insidious time has done its work. We idealize the past, it is shrouded in a haze of charm, and for some reason only good memories on the surface. For the bad ones, you need to go down to the special storage.
Until recently, sport was “beauty”. Flat stomach, round butt — that was our goal. Alas, the law of universal gravitation, like the love of sweets, turned out to be insurmountable. The butt reaches for the ground, the stomach, on the contrary, is getting closer to the ideal shape of a ball. Well, since everything is so hopeless, it would seem that you can say goodbye to sports. But no! Right now we have no choice.
We already know from our own experience that without regular exercise and stretching, we are in for headaches, backaches, crunchy joints and other troubles.
Do you want to get out of bed without a creak in the next couple of decades, go on dates with doctors less often and have time to play with grandchildren who are not yet there, but whom we already expect with a mixture of horror and delight? Then go ahead, to yoga — in the pose of a dog with a muzzle down. You can even bark if it makes you feel better.
In the struggle between beauty and convenience, beauty unconditionally capitulated. Heels? Skin irritating fur? Clothes do not breathe, it is inconvenient to get into a car or crawl with children on the floor? In her furnace. No sacrifice for beauty. Once, my first mother-in-law asked with surprise if I got tired during the day from hairpins. When I was young, I could not grasp the meaning of the question. Is it possible to get tired of heels?
But in less than a couple of decades, I left the race. It seems that I am ready for the role of mother-in-law: I look with surprise at women who are able to move on heels for distances exceeding the throw from the car seat to the nearest stool. Knitwear, cashmere, ugly ugg boots and orthopedic slippers are in use.
The brand of clothes, the size and purity of the stone, the color of the bag — the color of anything — all this has lost its meaning and meaning. Costume jewelry, rags that I put on today and threw away without regret tomorrow, small handbags, the main function of which is not to aggravate osteochondrosis, and complete indifference to the trends of the season — this is what is now on the agenda.
I’m over forty and I know myself too well. So if some crazy fashion comes up with a silhouette or color that brings out my flaws (which I feel like fashion has been doing for the last couple of decades!), I can easily ignore the trend.
It is after forty that we first seriously think about age-related aesthetic surgery and make a conscious decision.
In my case, it sounds like this: and figs with him! We are just beginning to understand that it is impossible to defeat nature. All these constricted faces, unnatural noses and lips look funny and scary, and most importantly, no one has yet been helped to stay in this world longer than planned. So why this self-deception?
Is there something you don’t like about your parents? Did we promise ourselves not to become like them? Haha twice. If we are honest with ourselves, we can easily notice that all the seeds have given excellent sprouts. We are the continuation of our parents, with all their shortcomings and virtues. Everything that we wanted to avoid, imperceptibly blossomed into a riot. And not all of this is bad. And something even begins to please us. Alas or cheers, it is not yet clear.
Sex is quite present in our lives. But at twenty it seemed that the “old men over forty” were already with one foot in the grave and were not doing “this”. Plus, besides sex, new nighttime pleasures appear. Did your husband snore tonight? That’s joy, that’s happiness!
Our friends become father-in-law and mother-in-law, and some — scary to think — grandparents
Among them there are even those who are younger than us! We look at them with mixed feelings. After all, they are our classmates! What grandmothers? What grandfathers? It’s Lenka and Irka! This is Pashka, who is five years younger! The brain refuses to process this information and hides it in a chest with non-existent artifacts. There, where ageless beauties, cakes that make you lose weight, aliens from outer space, a myelophone and a time machine are already stored.
We notice that those rare men who still manage to please us are in most cases younger than us. We calculate whether they are suitable for us as sons. We are relieved to understand that it is not, but the trend is alarming. It seems that in ten years they will still move to the “could be my son” group. This prospect causes an attack of horror, but also indicates that the opposite sex is still in the scope of our interests. Well, that’s good, and thank you.
We are aware of the finiteness of any resource - time, strength, health, energy, faith and hope. Once upon a time, we did not think about it at all. There was a feeling of infinity. It has passed, and the price of a mistake has increased. We cannot afford to invest time and energy in uninteresting activities, boring people, hopeless or destructive relationships. Values are defined, priorities are set.
Therefore, there are no random people left in our life. Those who are, who are close in spirit, we really appreciate. And we cherish relationships and quickly recognize the gifts of fate in the form of new, wonderful meetings. But just as quickly, without regrets and hesitation, we weed out the husk.
And we also invest in children with inspiration — emotions, time, money
Literary tastes are changing. There is less and less interest in fiction, more and more in real biographies, history, destinies of people and countries. We are looking for patterns, trying to understand the reasons. More than ever, the history of our own family becomes important to us, and we bitterly realize that much is no longer known.
We are again entering a period of light tears (the first was in childhood). The level of sentimentality grows imperceptibly over the years and suddenly goes off scale. We shed tears of emotion at children’s parties, smear the remnants of cosmetics in the theater and cinema, cry while listening to music, and practically not a single call for help on the Internet leaves us indifferent.
Suffering eyes — children’s, senile, dog, cat’s, articles about the violation of the rights of fellow citizens and dolphins, misfortunes and illnesses of complete strangers — all this makes us feel bad, even physically. And we again take out a credit card to donate some to charity.
Health wishes have become relevant. Alas. Since childhood, we have heard toasts: “The main thing is health!” And even they themselves regularly wished for something like that. But somehow formal. Without a spark, without understanding what, in fact, we are talking about. Now our wishes for health to those around us are sincere and felt. Almost with tears in my eyes. Because now we know how important it is.
We are good at home. And it’s good to be alone. In my youth, it seemed that all the most interesting things were happening somewhere out there. Now all the fun is inside. It turns out that I like being alone, and it’s amazing. Perhaps the reason is that I have small children and this does not happen so often? But it’s still unexpected. I seem to be drifting from extraversion to introversion. I wonder if this is a stable trend or by the age of 70 I will again fall in love with big companies?
At the age of forty, most women have to make the final decision about the number of children.
I have three of them, and I still don’t want to give up the idea that this figure is subject to upward revision. Although from a practical point of view, as well as from the point of view of my intervertebral hernias, another pregnancy is an unaffordable luxury. And if we have already made a decision with hernias, I still do not part with the illusion. Let the question remain open. I also sometimes think about adoption. This is also the achievement of age.
As the years go by, I feel less complaining and more grateful. Looking back, I see a lot of good things and understand how often I was lucky. Just lucky. On people, events, opportunities. Well, well done, I didn’t get lost, I didn’t miss it.
The plan for the coming years is simple. I don’t fight for anything. I enjoy what I have. I listen to my true desires — they become simpler and clearer over the years. I am happy for parents and children. I try to spend more time in nature and spend time with people who are pleasant to me. Ahead is careful preservation and, of course, development.