I Have Closed That Chapter
“Years do odd things to identity.”
Photo by Tomas Jasovsky on Unsplash
You may have heard of Lynn Slater. She was the Accidental Icon. Slater developed this brand because “I was having trouble finding a fashion blog or magazine that offered an urban, modern, intellectual aesthetic,” she shares, “particularly for women who live what I call ‘interesting but ordinary lives’ in cities.” I was never been a fashionista and did not follow her on social media. I am more interested in her now as she prepares, at the age of 70, for the publication of her book, How to be Old, Lessons in Living Boldly, her first non-academic book. You see, Slater is not only a cultural influencer, model, writer, and content creator but also a former professor and social worker with a Ph.D. in Social Welfare.
Her book is destined for the bestseller list. She has been the centre of media attention. However, the media seems more interested in who she was at the height of her fame as the Accidental Icon than the woman she is today. “I have broken up with myself as manifested in the persona of Accidental Icon," she writes, “I have left behind her red lipstick, her earrings and her clothes. They no longer fit: in size or style.”
“Today I am grandmothering,” she continues. “I am community-building. I am writing. I am wearing a faded second-hand denim shirt and vintage Gap overalls, the same ones I wore when I was 40 exploring what kind of creative life I might have after moving from the city and ending a marriage…I’m not in that world anymore…I have closed that chapter,” she shares, “and I want to move on.”
As a facilitator of life story writing, I appreciate the book analogy, ending one chapter and moving on to the next. Many chapters of my life are also closed.
In past blog posts I have written about pausing on the threshold of a new stage of life. I have researched how our personalities develop and change as we age. I am now noticing the subtleties of moving on to this next chapter. I feel the changes in my ageing body. I am living a softer, more gentle life. I am settling into the rhythm of the waves as I paddle north.
These days:
I rarely blow dry my hair or wear make-up.
I go braless most days.
I wear leggings with warm, baggy shirts or wrinkled linen dresses, as I can not be bothered ironing unless I am heading out.
I go barefoot, only wearing my Birkenstocks when my neuroma flares up.
My body is looser and flabbier, and while the extra weight is not healthy, I no longer step on the scale once a week.
I rarely set the alarm, sometimes waking at six am, other mornings sleeping until nine.
I no longer limit my reading - bring on those books!
I idle away many days walking, reading, and writing.
I spend more time alone.
I have fewer friendships.
I take afternoon naps with my granddaughter even if it disrupts her routine, aware that one day, afternoon snuggles will be a thing of the past.
I no longer care what others think of me, except for a handful of people I respect deeply.
I no longer dream big - but size is relative, and I still dream.
I put my husband first, ahead of my daughters.
I look at life through a wider lens and pick my battles accordingly.
I worry more about this world that my grandchildren will be stepping into.
I have decided some people can not be forgiven - but I still struggle with forgiving myself.
And you, my readers, what subtle shifts have you noticed as you closed another chapter?