> CD #107: Know thyself
As I mentioned in my last post, many of my colleagues at work are young—mostly 15–25 years younger than I am—which can be bewildering at times. Not that I am jealous of their youth (you could not pay me enough to make me relive my 20s). It’s just shocking to consider how much time has passed between me when I started working at this job and me now. Nearly enough time for a person to be born, become a full-grown human, get an internship, and then start working at the desk across from me. 😭
Sometimes it feels great, though, because it also shows me how far I’ve come, especially in terms of experience and self-knowledge. The latest example was just last week, when two of my co-workers began a multi-day, multi-modal inquiry into what their colour seasons were. Apparently, one of them had a friend who paid $500 for a colour consultation to learn whether she was a Spring, Summer, Fall, or Winter—and my deskmates were busy compiling selfies and consulting numerous apps and charts, trying to figure out which colours looked best on themselves.
My first thought was, “Oh, I remember colour seasons from the 80s,” followed almost immediately by, “Richard Gilmore was an autumn.” IYKYK
Without looking at any of their charts at all, I told them I could already guess I was a winter, and they were shocked that I was right.
One benefit of being older is that I have been wearing clothing for twice as long as my co-workers have and I generally know what looks good on me. I don’t have to waffle on colours, necklines, silhouettes etc. when I’m buying clothes online because I have basically worn everything ever made at least once. That’s not to say I always look good, of course. I wear plenty of unflattering stuff because it’s fun—or warm—and mostly, you just gotta live. But that is also the joy of being in my 40s. It’s a lovely combination: having knowledge of your own strengths and weaknesses while also shedding the pressure to conform to other people’s ideals.
Women don’t talk enough about the upsides of aging—probably because there are so many downsides in a patriarchal society—but it can be great to have accumulated a bunch of days and weeks and years of experience, to know yourself intimately, and to have the confidence to declare that you know exactly what’s right for you.
While I was writing this, I was thinking about the poet Mary Ruefle, whose work actually makes me excited to grow older. So let me leave you with some lines from the first poem in one of her best collections, My Private Property.
Little Golf Pencil
by Mary Ruefle
At headquarters they asked me for something dry and understated. Mary, they said, it’s called a statement. They took me out back to a courtyard where they always ate lunch and showed me a little tree that was, sadly, dying. Something with four legs had eaten it rather badly. Don’t over-emote, they said. I promised I wouldn’t but I was thinking to myself that the something-with-four-legs had certainly over-emoted and that the tree, in response, was over-emoting now, being in the strange little position of dying. All the cops were sitting around eating sandwich halves and offered me one. This one’s delicious, said a lieutenant, my wife made it. Seeing as it was peanut butter and jelly I thought he was over-emoting, but I didn’t say anything. I just sat looking at the tree and eating my sandwich half. When I was ready I asked for a pencil and they gave me one of those little golf pencils. I didn’t say anything about that, either. I just wrote my statement and handed it over—it was a description of the tree which they intended to give to their captain as a Christmas present—I mean my description, not the tree—because the captain, well, he loved that tree and he loved my writing and every one of the cops hoped to be promoted in the captain’s heart and, who knows, maybe get a raise. Still, after all that sitting around in the courtyard eating sandwich halves, I had a nice feeling of sharing, so when they asked me whether I had anything else to say I told them that in the beginning you understand the world but not yourself, and when you finally understand yourself you no longer understand the world. They seemed satisfied with that. Cops, they’re all so young.
:) Teresa
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Really enjoyed this post -especially the part about working with mostly younger people. I think a lot about how whole childhoods and young adulthoods happened while I was floundering around in low-paying temp jobs and scrounging for time to write. Also loved that you ended with the Mary Ruefle piece -- she is so out of the box. I think she has never spent any time in any box, ever. Thanks, Meredith