Danielle Ramos

I started writing this piece a few hours ago, and while it was free-flowing, it just wasn’t hitting the way I wanted it to, so I left my desk and went outside for a walk. Whenever I get stuck, I put it away because I know my brain is always on in the background, and when the thought comes to me, I’ll know and can go back to it.

Before I left, I cleaned my cat’s litter, put out the garbage, and tidied up a bit. By the time I walked outside, I wasn’t even thinking of writing.

Though it was a humid day, it was a little refreshing to be in the sun, but then it quickly became too hot, and the pollen wafting through the air made my eyes tear. I walked past a grandmother pushing a stroller, accompanied by her granddaughter, about 7 or 8.

I felt a sneeze coming on, and a few seconds after they passed by, it erupted. The little girl, who was already about 20 feet away by then, yelled out, “Bless you.” I turned around to say thank you.

I saw her with her arms stretched out to the side, her flowery dress blowing in the warm air, and her face lit up with a beautiful smile. Carefree, happy, kind, and sweet, she was glowing.

And that’s when I knew how I wanted to finish this piece.

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Middle age is surreal

I know I’m not 20 or 30 anymore, but my spirit feels like I am. On the inside, I am still that wise-cracking younger sister, obstinate teen, and still sometimes, hopefully optimistic young woman.

What I am no longer is naive, and that’s a good thing.

Life has a way of feeding you lessons, and if you don’t learn them in the beginning stages, lord, they will keep coming fiercer each time.

When I was a child, I wanted to be a teen in high school and go to college. From there, I longed for the first job, the next job, a career, an apartment, and a house. Eventually, I got them all, only to realize that my new wish was to go back in time.

I fell into the trap of waiting for the next thing I wanted to get or achieve, believing that was the thing that was gonna make me happy. I became attached to the standards of what people around me and society, in general, said I should strive for as I grew up.

Last night I was looking at old photos and made a fascinating discovery. I realized that I wasn’t the hideous creature I thought I was when the photos were taken. I can look at them now and see my mom’s warm smile, which I love, but also her scarce eyebrows and my Dad’s prominent nose. This doesn’t make me recoil anymore. It makes me happy and proud to look anything like them.

What I saw as not thin enough, awkward, too big, and unworthy, I now recognize as curvy, feminine, joyful, even kind of beautiful.

And what I treasure most are all the memories that come from each photo, most of them with my kids, Mom, Dad, sister and her kids, uncle, and friends. There are so many good memories in my life that I wouldn’t even remember them all if I hadn’t had these photos.

Not one of the memories focuses on the school, job, career, apartment, or house. The joy comes straight from the people in my life, and if I could go back in time, I’d tell my younger self to stop wasting the day on anything else.

Know what else I have learned? I love being old…er.

In my youth, I was so antsy to get to the next step in my life, and now I’m learning to be enthused and grateful for what I have right now. It has taken me so long to realize that I am fine exactly where I’m at and just the way I am.

However, reaching this point has not been without pain. It started with taking stock of what my life was and choosing to do it differently, deciding to stop believing what people told me and start trusting how they made me feel.

That basic act was a way to tell my spirit that I was someone who deserved peace, love, and comfort. It amazes me that I have gone through my life without doing that.

I wish that all little girls everywhere could skip the seemingly widespread self-hatred that pops up with puberty and patriarchy. While I do think it’s getting better in some respects, we have a hell of a long and arduous way to go.

When I take photos now, I wish I looked like I did years ago, for sure, but I am starting to accept the lines under my eyes. The grays that have moved in are the same ones that have been creeping up for years, they’ve just been diligently covered up and slathered with ongoing chemicals.

God forbid I did not have youthful hair color. And for what? So someone I don’t know thinks I’m younger than I am? (Of course, my hair won’t cover up my face, which certainly doesn’t look 25 anymore.) Or so an old high school or college friend won’t see how age has aged me (knowing full well, it has aged them, too!)?

In the past few years, I have attempted to grow out my grays twice already, but I always went back to dying them again. I started the process again over a year ago, and now, as each new silver strand makes itself known, I salute her and welcome her to the party.

In middle age, I am finally starting to like who I am again, just as I did as a child, and it’s a wild feeling.

It has allowed me to choose what I will do and won’t do, rather than rely on someone else’s thoughts and feelings about what they think. Admittedly, this is a work in progress, and some days are better than others.

Here’s what I now know

We are all perfect just as we are — without doing anything, achieving anything, buying anything, healing or fixing anyone, or looking a certain way.

We are all magnificent at 25, 45, 65, and beyond … luxurious even.

We are all just as we should be, whether we want to color our hair or not, dress up or lounge around, are thin, curvy, or any other body type, or are young or old. Furthermore, we are a force to be reckoned with.

Middle age is a time to rediscover ourselves away from the exterior gaze of others, while at the same time delving deep down into our innocent childlike selves and embracing that inner spirit. It’s nothing short of liberating.

So while I may want to be young again to have the chance to relive life with the lessons I know now, that is an impossibility.

Yet what I can do is summon up that little girl in me, the carefree, happy, and sweet little girl who loved life and was innately curious and kind, who relied on her own inner knowing before she took in the world’s judgments.

I want to become that girl again, only this time with my gray sparkles flying in the breeze.