Easily Dismissed

I  sit here looking out the window from a hospital bed.  Watching the fog move over and around the trees, some turning red and yellow, some green, I wonder how did I get here? It’s a long story filled with fear and confusion and, yes, sexism. 

You see, I am a 69 year old woman. I have grey hair and grandchildren. I am considered and dismissed. I am not seen as valuable or vital or powerful. 

And it pisses me off.

Working women unite. 

Remember the ‘Women’s Movement’? I was one of those women. I went to rallies. I marched. I was going to change the way it had been because my generation of women were serious and dedicated to advancing right along side the men. 

And I did. 

I started in college as president of Women In Communications. I worked at the college newspaper, radio and TV stations. I won an award for a public service TV spot about ageism. And how important it was for people of all ages to be valued. Funny that I should find now, decades later, nothing has changed the negative view of older people. 

I worked in advertising writing copy for newspapers, radio and TV. I handled some of the city’s biggest clients. I won local, regional and national awards. I wore a suit. I carried a briefcase. I also handled broadcast production writing, directing and editing. 

Then I had a baby and it all changed. Why? I didn’t want to park my babies in daycare five days out of seven. I had worked in a daycare center in high school, so I knew a little more than others how that worked. Yes, there are many dedicated teachers and childcare workers, I know because I was one of them but there are also those who are there to do as little as possible. And those who treated some children terribly. 

I couldn’t let that happen to mine. So I freelanced in advertising while taking care of my babies. 

Not easy to do then. No email or internet or remote work yet. I did my best. When that door closed on me, I went back to school. 

Another creative career. 

My goal was to do art residences. My teacher said, do your art first. So I did. I painted and sculpted and, yes, wrote. I’ve been showing my art in galleries and shows and doing residences for over 20 years now. I love it. And I’m still doing it.

My art has changed over the years, as I’ve changed. I went from painting to sculpting to throwing clay. But one change has hit me hard: ageism. 

“You remind me of my mother, there’s nothing wrong with you.”

That’s exactly what a doctor told me 8 months ago, when I went in with bladder pain. He did a test he said would come out negative. It was positive. On and on and on I went from doctor to doctor, clinic to clinic, urgent care to urgent care, being given antibiotics and sent home with the words, it’s not a problem. 

And because I’m a gray haired lady, my symptoms were, like me, dismissed. And because I was told that over and over it was not a problem, I started to deny my own pain and believe it. 

Until finally, a doctor in the hospital ER said, you need an operation. Scary, yes. But now, I sit recovering from a colon operation. I had a great doctor. I was moved to a floor with incredible nurses who listened and helped me so much. 

I was, finally, not dismissed. 

I’ve felt so much fear and confusion and pain. And now, anger. 

What could have been done to save me from this situation?

Maybe being a man? 

Art and Ageism

 

The sun is shining. There’s a cool breeze keeping the day light and comfortable. It’s a perfect summer day, really, so why do I feel unsettled? Why am I looking up and around with a wondering, worried, wandering feeling?

Because my life has changed. So has yours, I’m sure. It happened to all of us over the last 4 years with covid and closures. Add a flooded house, reconstruction and then, job loss and no health insurance. Even though I qualify for Medicare and filed for it, it’s been 3 months and I’m still waiting for Medicare Part B due to a corporate screw up and a slow government system. 

It’s scary. And I know, I’m not alone. 

Boomers are older now. 

There’s a word everyone likes to use to describe my husband and I: retired. We’re supposed to be happy about it. It’s supposed to be a release from the drudgery of 9 to 5 work. But what if you loved your work? What if that was your interest, your creativity, your calling? And now, because you are a ‘certain’ age, you’re not supposed to be doing it anymore. 

Is that fair? Or right? Or good? That someone, somewhere gets to decide you’re done?

Nope. Not at all. It’s ageist. If you like the job and can do the job, you should be able to do it as long as you want. I’m not alone in thinking this, there are articles everywhere about men and women in their 80’s and beyond who want to keep working and many still are. 

Here’s another funny thing: as boomers are being forced out of the workplace, there’s no one to replace them. Other adults decades younger are not filling those jobs. Companies are searching for workers and not finding them. 

If you want to hear an interview about ageism, here’s a link to a podcast by Mike Turner:

https://sites.libsyn.com/468780/this-chair-rocks

This Chair Rocks

"This Chair Rocks: A Manifesto Against Ageism" author Ashton Applewhite talks about about her battles with Ageism and what can be done to stop the discrimination.

I’m not retired. And I’m not going to retire. 

As an artist, I am my own employer and employee. I get to decide what I do or don’t do. I’ll admit that can be a heavy responsibility. I’ve been a lot of places with my art over the last 20 years: gallery shows, sculpture shows, pottery shows, open studios, online shows and shops. During the pandemic, I worked hard to figure out new products to make and places to sell them. Overall, I’ve done pretty well. 

Now, I’m looking at my work from a different point of view. Instead of making what I think will sell, I want to go back to making what wants to be made. That’s how I started out. I had no finished product in mind. I didn’t think about marketing. I just picked up my paintbrush, copper, fabric or clay and worked. In the process, something emerged and I followed it. 

Somewhere along the way, I decided to lead instead of follow. I was still creating but I see that selling more became the focus. Product over process. But things are shifting again in my body, mind and soul. I’m not sure what this means or where exactly it will go.

I’m sitting here watching the clouds shift and move. 

And that’s normal and natural. 

Just like the clouds, my life is shifting and moving too. 

Time to be a little like a dragon. 

Time to be brave and fly in new directions. 

Time Marches On

My daughter just had a baby. She was my first baby. My daughter has a son. My son has a daughter. They’re delightful, healthy and wonderful and I’m a delighted and grateful. 

I see my two babies grown up and having babies. They are older and, therefore, so am I. Oh, I’ve spent a long time in denial but time can not be denied. Nor should it. But in our society, especially for women, age is seen as something to hide. 

Cosmetics, procedures, diets, books, fitness programs are all sold to reverse or stop aging. But, we all know the truth, time marches on whether we like it or not. 

I’ve decided to like it. 

“Yup”, I said to my granddaughter, “I do have some white hair.” When she asked why, I said that my hair has changed during my life just like I’ve changed. When I was her age, my hair was almost the same color as hers, strawberry blonde. But as I got older, my hair got darker. And now, it’s getting lighter again. And I think the new lighter highlights will make my fair skin and blue eyes look even better. 

Nope, I don’t weigh 100 pounds anymore. But now I have muscles that can lift my granddaughter up high, throw clay, handle a 60 pound dog, prune trees, haul heavy grocery bags and do planks. And because I walk a mile or more everyday and do yoga, I can bend and stretch and climb stairs without pain. 

Ok, my knee may creak a bit, sometimes I get stiff. And that’s an important message from my body to take time to breathe and stretch. But that doesn’t mean I’m going to waste my time or anyone else’s complaining about it. Age does not give me cart blanc to whine. 

We live in a very ageist society. Women and men are expected to work until a certain ‘age’ and retire. Well, guess what? We don’t have to. I have had several women come up to me recently and ‘assume’ I am retired. When I say I am a working artist, they respond with, “Oh, you’re retired with a hobby.” Seriously? 

I’ve also decided to change how I see me. 

For years, I’ve been in denial of my wrinkles. I’ve refused to see my glasses as a sign of age. But they are there, right before my eyes. So it’s time to see them, and maybe give them some love, instead of hate. They do make it easy and far more comfortable to put all those details that I love into my art. 

Maybe it’s also time to see myself through a new lenses of experience as not just a survivor but someone who thrives. Someone who went through pain and heartache and fearful times and lives a good, creative, healthy, loving life.  

I’ve also decided instead of waiting for others to like me, I’m going to like myself for a change. 

I am still a woman. Smart. Creative. Loving. Capable. 

Yes, I’m older. 

Yes, I am a working artist NOT a ‘retired’ woman with a ‘hobby’. Seriously?

Yes, I’ve changed. 

Now I’ve decided as time marches on, to march with it. 

Creating Inspiration.

There are many ways and many places to find inspiration. In and around our beautiful earth: sunsets at the beach, fall leaves in colorful piles by the sidewalk, snow covered mountains, are just a few ideas. Then there are museums, books, music, dance, performances where art and artists create and inspire. Even a well planned and executed dinner entree can give me color and texture and shape ideas.  

The very act of creating can be a way to find inspiration. I get creative ideas from all of these places and more, but this week, I got my inspiration from a tissue box. 

"Never Stop Learning."

I was just gathering laundry and refilling the tissue box, when I saw it. I stopped all my busy work and just stared at the wise words coming from the most mundane place: an empty tissue box. 

I have studied and learned and worked at many things over my lifetime so far. And, I'll admit to my own failings for sure, along with some successes. But I'm reaching a certain time of life when society expects me to know all I need to know, to stop learning, working and creating. 

I know it's ageist thinking. And I know in my heart, it's not only wrong thinking, it's a ticket to an uninspiring life. What do I do? 

Learn from a tissue box? Yes.

Because somewhere out there is a designer or art director who needed help. They'd been given a problem: to think outside the usual tissue box, to create something different. And maybe, just maybe, they were a little lost and lacking in inspiration. Maybe they told themselves that designing something as mundane as a tissue box, could be a learning experience. 

Even though you and I have lived quite a few decades of life on this planet, life is still one big learning experience because I've never lived in this exact time before. Neither have you. I've never been this age before and neither have you. 

So therefore: I, you, we are all still learning. 

Now some people out there will sigh and pull back and deny any need to learn anything new. They'll say that there are no new ideas. Yes, I actually had an art director tell me that decades ago.

But since then, there have been many new ideas in my life. Computers, email, laptops, iPads and smart phones, just to name a few. So I'd say he was wrong, but maybe, he just lacked inspiration and he didn't know or care to find out how to get it back. Maybe he thought he'd learned all he needed to know. 

I know one thing for certain, I  don't know all I need to know. And I can't see a life worth living without creating. So I need inspiration.

This week, I got it from a tissue box designed by a fellow creative traveler. So thanks, whoever you are, for creating the inspiration I very much needed. 

"Never Stop Learning."