I Recommend Reading Glasses

CW: perimenopause

Living one day at a time;

enjoying one moment at a time;

accepting hardships as the pathway to peace;

taking, as He did, this sinful world

as it is, not as I would have it;

This less-cross-stitched, second stanza of the Serenity Prayer is new to me. But the sentiment is familiar: mindfulness. I like to think of mindfulness as the ability to watch the shit hit the fan without getting mad about who turned on the fan. The point is, things are not going well and it doesn't do much good, in the moment, to figure out who to blame. Better to leave the room, or at least open up your umbrella.

And whenever I catch myself clenching my teeth through another shit storm or notice an audible sigh of sadness or regret coming from the middle of my chest, I remind myself of my reading glasses. No, this world is not quite "as I would have it" thankyouverymuch. But at least there are books to read! And children to play with and dogs to pet.

My youtube and instagram ads are filled with older female celebrities coming out of retirement to tell us all how horrible perimenopause is, presumably so we don't feel so alone? My question: are we, perimenopausal women, the only people getting these ads in their algorithm? That would be a disservice I think, because the people who need to be informed (or more accurately, warned) are the people living with us and working with us. Our families, pets, and coworkers deserve some information.

I mean, someone should tell the dogs why we melt into the couch instead of taking them for walks anymore. Can someone explain to our adult children why their bedrooms have been wallpapered over and everything they left behind put in the attic one day while we were mad-cleaning? Shouldn't the husbands be warned that, because of myriad physical symptoms, there will be no more sleeping in the same bed together all night? Could someone please notify our coworkers that our brain is on an extended reboot schedule? It goes offline about once or twice an hour without warning. Surprise!

I can't tell the people in my life why any of it is happening because -- well for at least two reasons. Most relevant: I have no idea why my basic personality has changed. I don't understand hormones. Every week is like the Wheel of Fortune in my body and I'm just a contestant. Second, it's becoming common knowledge that I can't quickly recall every dog and child's name in my family, much less every coworker's. So even if I could explain perimenopause, no one is taking me seriously around here. And a third reason: not for nothing, it's all very embarrassing.

Many people my age fight the aging process by dying their hair, micro-needling their face, or getting botox and using expensive creams. I'm trying to avoid the metaphor of fighting a battle when it comes to life. In any war, someone has to lose, and the older I get, the less I feel like fighting anything! So I'm definitely not fighting the aging process. At least not with any hope of winning.

As part of the "not fighting," (aka "denial") I have been avoiding my optometrist. But I do love to read, so in the spirit of embracing the inevitable, I bought myself a cute pair of reading glasses -- "readers," the olds call them -- and even though I like the way they look, I was secretive about them at first. Who wants to admit their eyes are not working? The readers lived strictly in my bedroom because I only needed them at night to read before bed. But as my eyesight waned, I started to bring them with me to the couch. Two years later, I consider them part of my reading experience now -- book and glasses, sticking together like chips and salsa.

My readers are large, with full-sized frames which serve to blur everything in my sight over two feet away. All I can make out is the font on the pages, and that is exactly the myopic, out-of-touch vibe I'm going for these days.

Maybe there are dirty clothes on the floor or a stack of mail on the counter. Too bad I can't see those! I've got my readers on. Maybe the throw pillows are askew or my lunch dishes are still on the table from yesterday. Oops! Not in focus.

I'm also applying the concept of readers to the more broad scope of life. Whatever bad, confusing things are happening outside my range of influence and control are better kept out of my range of vision as well. Upheaval in other countries can remain pretty hazy and not really my problem. Send some money and prayers and get back to a juicy novel.

Getting too invested in far away happenings and distant people over which you have no control is for young people who can probably still read street signs when they're driving. We are old enough now to realize there's precious little we can do about any of it. We're starting to deeply appreciate cliches like, "Stop and smell the roses." And "Thank goodness I still have my health."

When the news is wearing me down, I long to keep my readers on all day like a toddler. "I can't see you so you can't see me! Nah nah nee nah!" For example, there are 4 (or more?) fires burning around Los Angeles this morning, all within 40 miles of where I sit. Of the thousands of people evacuating their homes, many are my friends. We need to stop the wind in order to stop the fires spreading. But since that is impossible, even for an overachiever like I used to be, I'm going to sit on my couch and keep reading a book about a charming British family who moved to Italy. I will count this ability to compartmentalize as one of the benefits of aging. As the prayer says, I'm gaining "...the wisdom to know the difference [between what I can and cannot change.]"

Some people might say I'm sticking my head in the sand or in denial. And some people might call it optimism and self-care. I don't care what it's called, I'm keeping the readers on. Focusing on the people I see in real life, and turning off the news to get my work done helps me stay sane and happier. If it also makes me ignorant, privileged, or selfish, then that's what I'll be for a while. I'd rather wear my glasses and be able to clearly read words on the page than look younger and have everything blur together. Maybe I'll keep them on until I hit menopause, my waistline disappears, and I can start dressing and acting like the eccentric, old lady I was born to be.

I've always loved old ladies who say random things and go on rants about the price of mayonnaise while they waddle over and hand you a plate of cookies. These women wear pajamas and matching tracksuits all day everyday but they look amazing! Bright colors, soft fabrics, flowy, flowy silhouettes. No make-up (or maybe way too much make-up, it's really the same thing) and no high heels. They have 14 pairs of reading glasses and kleenex in every pocket.

Embrace it! You're old! No one is looking at you anymore and you don't need to look at them either, not that closely, and not unless you know them well and they are asking for your help or advice. Sure, they are doing it all wrong (not the way you would do it.) And yes, you could save them 4 hours of trouble. But will your younger neighbor actually listen to you explain why it's not advisable to have 6 credit cards? Will your children pay attention when you tell them to buy the direct flight even if it costs a little more? Will your best friend stop seeing the guy who keeps cancelling their dates because he's still too attached to his first wife?

Maybe it's none of my nevermind anyway, but it is hard to watch people making dumb mistakes and even harder to watch bad things happening. And thanks to these readers I'm able to block it all out for another chapter.

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Thanks for reading, thanks for praying for my sister (she’s doing much better!) and for the fire victims of which we know many.

Love, Nonni