Long time no see. It’s not as if there’s nothing to write about. The completely not surprising news about the environment is that climate change is happening faster than most predicted, while evolution among republicans in our country is slower, much slower than anyone could have imagined. In fact, they seem to be going backwards. Still, I ride my bike whenever and wherever possible, still avoid my car if possible (still have the same car.), still garden and raise bees without pasticides, still like rock n’ roll turned up loud and danceable.
Anyway, I’m mulling a new year-long series. It’s called “Now that I’m invisible,” and would maybe chronicle the many, many benefits of being an older woman in our culture. And there are. Benefits, I mean.
Boomers aren’t exactly invisible. They never haven been and aren’t starting now, so I’m not suggesting that as a Boomer, I’m invisible, alas. I will likely draw my last breath being excrutiatingly aware that I’m part of a demographic without which there would have been no summer of love or Beatles or even Sally, the most excellent daughter of Don Draper. But mine is also a demographic that is loud, demanding, usually pissed off, self-absorbed and huge.
What most people are unconscious about is that there are a billion ways in which women in the world across all generations are never invisible. They are instead objects to be controlled or even owned. Walking down the street, eating a meal, just minding their own business? Not invisible. Not possible. But for a while now, I’ve been feeling a certain Je ne sais pas…lightness? Freedom? Something along those lines. I can pass…I’m an older woman, inconsequential and therefore…invisible. And dude? I like it.
This is weird, right?
So, I may do this. It would be a way to chronicle this issue, from way back and everything engrained in me to this new freedom and how it manifests. It’s a curious subject. Curiouser and curiouser.