Dear Sylvia,
I don’t like writing letters, but given how you’ve been avoiding me lately, I feel I have no choice. I’m sure you’re thinking, I have no idea what she’s talking about. Avoiding what? How about we put the bullshit aside and choose the high road for once. Because I saw the look on your face at Whole Foods. The other day? Riding that pain-in-the-ass moving sidewalk down to the parking garage. Do you know how long it takes to get to the bottom once the wheels on the cart lock into that grid and force you to stay put? Forty-three seconds. I timed it. Seems like a flash, like the blink of an eye, but on that particular day–when we were alone, and nobody was coming or going, and those floor-to-ceiling automatic doors at the bottom turned into one giant reflective mirror—43 seconds was a really long time. What else was there to do but hunker down and stare ahead? Yeah, I saw what you saw. I heard your gasp.
Bottom line…I can’t do another 30 years of sweats. I can’t do three more decades of hoodies, and ponytails, and runners. You know who dresses in hoodies and ponytails and runners? Your 16-year-old daughter, that’s who. The same person who conducts every aspect of her existence in her bed—food, friends, sleep, homework. It’s appalling. And it’s not who you are. So here’s an idea: How about emulating someone your own age? How about Jennifer or Robin or Salma or Viola? How about friggin’ JLo? There’s someone to copycat. You know when she wears sweats? When she works out. And they’re nice ones. Not a stretched out pair that she slept in, and wore to the grocery store, and then to a meeting, and then to class.
You’ll say, I’m not a girly-girl. That’s not me. Well, guess what? I happened to be with you back in ’95 when you owned those linen short-shorts, and those buck stacked heels and were turning heads in Chelsea. CHELSEA, for god sake! So quit the, I don’t have it in me…I work at home…I have kids…and a dog… Blah, blah, blah. You’ve stopped trying, and I’m sick of it!
Did it ever occur to you that I can’t keep you feeling young and vibrant if you’re going to give up? That when they say, the good part about getting older is that you stop trying to prove anything to anyone, they’re not talking about hygiene. They don’t mean only wear sports bras and clothes you can wash in the heavy-duty cycle. They aren’t implying that you regularly skip showers. Avoid wearing make-up. Stop dressing sexy. Oops. Sorry. Did that last one hit a nerve? Good. I thought it might.
I get that you may not feel desirable. That those days of turning heads seem long gone. But it’s not about them. That’s the point they’re trying to make! It’s about you. The way you feel when you try. Buy something special for yourself. Spend some extra time in the mirror. When you get dressed every day for who you are on the inside, and not who you think you’ve become or who you wish you still were.
Let me be clear, I want you to own your years, not hide from them. To revel in every line and every battle scar. Trust me, it’ll make my job a hell of a lot easier. But if you’re going to write yourself off, I’m not sure that I can be there for you. I might just fade away. And I don’t want to do that. I want to be with you always.
So are we cool? No hard feelings? You know what you have to do? Awesome. Because I love you so much. And I wouldn’t want anything–especially age–to come between us.
Sincerely,
Your younger self
P.S. Should you suddenly feel inspired to try something different, a reminder that bangs have never worked for us. Same with skinny jeans, big shoulder pads, and sequins.
P.P.S. Why do these confrontations always happen at Whole Foods!?!
