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.
