Even though no one is making pithy resolutions anymore, I have one
that I'm sticking with. My resolution this year is about being
ridiculous. Sounds strange, but that is what it comes down to for me,
a forty-four year old woman and mother of three:I resolve in the
coming year not to worry about being ridiculous.
It may seem simple, but actually mine is an extremely challenging
resolution.It is very easy to feel ridiculous as a woman in her
forties, especially if you are a mother.For one thing, at this point
I am no longer a young mother,sitting red-cheeked and girlish on a
playground bench, digging sand out of the mouth of a plump
toddler.Mothering in your mid-forties means you are more likely in
the car a lot, and you are driving your kids around to sports or
other activities so that they can have fun.
It is not, however, the soccer, the car, or the kids, really, that
make this time in life a challenge.It is the lack of fun choices,
and the growing sense of the inappropriate.All around me I see signs
of what I'm no longer supposed to do, from the superficial world of
fashion - which tells me I must cut my hair to above shoulder length,
and that I should think twice about wearing short skirts - to the
remarks from some of my peers about my choice of exercise:belly
dance.
When I first took up belly dance last spring I fell completely
head-over-heels in love with it.Here was one exercise class where it
was actually okay to have a round, loose belly, that iconic
accoutrement of middle age; the better to show off the
undulations!Women of all different ages, shapes, and sizes, we were
free to spin and shimmy with sherbet-colored coin scarves tied around
our hips and no one judged us.The feminine camaraderie, the
exultation of all things female, made this an unforgettable - and
addictive -experience for me.But when I told people, someone
immediately wanted to know what my sons thought of it, and I felt
ashamed of myself, even though I knew there was no reason for
that.And, when I told friends, one woman I know said, "What's
next?Pole dancing?"I reddened and tried to explain that the two are
unrelated, but actually, what if I did want to take up pole
dancing?Not that I do, but why is that so completely beyond the ken
for a mother of teenage sons?Why is there no room to be more than
one thing at this age?
I hated knowing that in sharing this newfound happiness with others,
I would risk ridicule. I wondered, fleetingly, if I should give up my
eccentric new hobby and channel my energy into a more acceptable
activity, like walking or Pilates.But then I would really miss the
sequins and the veils.And, too, there is a deep thrill in doing
something that makes you feel vulnerable, slightly outrageous, and
strong all at the same time.
So my solution, which has led to my resolution, is to do it even
more, despite all the judgment out there (especially my own); the
best defense is a good offense. I also tell myself that I am doing
this to set an example for my children, that I am dancing because of
my sons, not in spite of them.Okay, maybe it embarrasses them, to
see their mother as a sensuous woman; but maybe it is also good for
them to see me as a complete person, flawed and sweating, struggling
to master something new just like they do.
But mostly I am doing this for me. I don't ever want to be guilty of
saying, "Oh, I can't," while others do, and while I secretly dream of
my own possibilities.That would be so sad, and so dishonest.I want
to be the star of my own life.I may have a tough time -- as Shakira,
the belly dancing pop singer would say, "hips don't lie," and at
forty-four, that is even more true.My hips don't lie, but neither do
I, about who I am - to anyone, least of all, to myself.