Women Rule...Men Drool

Call me sexist. I don't care. But, from where I sit, the evidence is plentiful. Women get more interesting and vital as they age; men become overripe and rot.

Case in point. My husband "retired" a year ago at age 62. Other than a short term part-time job last Christmas, a few weeks of consulting he did for a friend, and a request from his former employer to "help out" for awhile, he doesn't do much. Not much at all. Oh sure, in the summer he golfed and fished. That was great. But we live in Wisconsin and the golf and fishing season is over in the blink of an eye. He seems content to wake up early, feed the dogs, make coffee, nibble incessantly, and read and watch TV (usually at the same time). (Did I mention gain weight?) Oh, in case I forget, he also naps. There is the morning nap. The afternoon nap. And the nap before bedtime. He also makes an occasional foray to the bathroom, the computer,or the laundry room to switch loads. His big adventure is going to the library to get more books.

Now I'm all about the "zen" life. There is a lot to be said for just chilling and living with diminished stress. But I see the zen life as a phase - something you do while the Universe is preparing to send you Further Life Instructions. But my husband is not in a phase. This is where he is - forever. He has no plans to do anything. He is content. I hate content!!! I don't get it! And I am not alone...

"Oh my god!' yelled my friend, "all my husband does is go to work, come home, nap, read and watch TV. I can't stand it! We used to DO things together! What happened?" Another friend - "My husband isn't any fun anymore. He's too young to be so old!"

Many women also find themselve re-sexualized after 40. They look for more adventure in bed. Do men? Not from what I hear - (or at least not at home). "My sex life is sooooo boring. Same old thing. It's like a dance routine. I know all the steps. And my husband seems perfectly content with this!!!," confided a friend of mine. I know one woman who actually gave her husband clear, simple instructions about what turned her on. Like a good man, he followed the instructions. Once. Next time, it was the old routine. What's a girl to do?

I believe I can conclude that men are content with very little. They want their lives to run smoothly. They like things the way they are. Women, on the other hand are like hives that just want to break out! Whether it is sexual, recreational, job-related or whatever - we crave newness - while living with men who just like to keep on keeping on. It's a wonder any marriage lasts.

So, how does this happen? Are the men in our lives simply worn out from all those years of "providing"? Doubt it. That excuse would have worked 40 years ago...but today, women work. Many bring home half of the family income, sometimes more. AND while we do this we hold down several other jobs - Mom, housekeeper,meal planner and cook, time and appointment manager and, my personal favorite, social director. (In my house we would never go anywhere or do anything if I stopped making plans for us) Objectively speaking, we should be the ones who lie around and rest-up after the kids are gone or we retire. But we don't. We catch a second (sometimes a third) wind and blaze new paths, conquer new territories, change our look, find new friends (and keep the old ones, of course)learn new skills and anything else that strikes our fancy. Our men, not so much.

I realize there are exceptions to the "men get old faster" theory. There are always exceptions. But I don't see magazine stories extolling the adventures of many men who reinvent themselves. Those who do, often do it with their wives.

Girls, we fought hard for equality. As I see it, if we were to be equal to our men at this point in our lives, we would have to slide down the ladder a few pegs. We are already superior. We have more energy, more drive and more things to achieve after 40. As they seem to whither, we bloom and flower.

I used to wonder what older women found appealing about dating (or playing) with younger men. Now I think I get it. This may mean that Cher and Demi are my heroes now. They figured all this out long ago.

Journal journal, where the hell is my journal?

I don't journal. I've tried. I must have 5 or 6 absolutely gorgeous blank books...given by friends because I look like the kind of person who journals. I gotta do something about my looks, I guess.

Journaling frustrates me on so many levels. Level one - it's boring. My life and my thoughts are not that interesting and I cannot come up with enough good reasons to replicate it on paper. Who would read it? Not me. And I certainly don't want anyone I know to find it and read it after I'm gone. I wouldn't be able to defend myself! Or explain myself. When my ex-mother-in-law died we found at least ten years worth of journals. We struggled with what to do with them. Eventually we tossed them. I know, that's awful, but what the heck were we going to do with them? They didn't contain many surprises. No shocking revalations. Just a life, an ordinary life.

The level two problem with journaling is my outrageous need to write it right. I could never just let my thoughts flow freely and then close the book. I would edit, and re-edit, and wonder if it was 'good'. Journaling gives me performance anxiety. For me, journaling is a performance. I think that defeats the purpose of keeping a journal.

At level three is the issue of catharsis. Writing in a journal is alleged to give us a place where we can safely and privately dump our thoughts, reflections and feelings.To freely unburden ourselves. Personally, I'd rather call a friend and bore her to tears. Or talk to a therapist and bore her to tears. It's faster. I like fast. I'm a drive-thru kind of person...I don't have the time or inclination to go inside.

And look at how much time is involved in the journaling ritual! I am not a ritual person. Finding the time, place and right moment to put pen to paper- every single day - sound like being stuck in a bad job. Sounds like working on an assembly line. In fact, I'd rather work on an assembly line than write in a journal every day. Lets face it - I don't write in this blog everyday.

And speaking of this blog - you might argue that blogging is a form of journaling. Maybe it is. But, that brings me back to the fear of having someone actually read what I write. No one I know has the web address for this blog. Anyone who has read it came upon it by accident- usually compliments of Google. When they tell me they've read parts of it, I panic. Did they like it? Was it interesting? Did anything make them laugh? Blah blah blah. I could NOT take that level of paranoia every single day.

A lot of books and articles about surviving midlife recommend journaling. I don't know why. I think that there are special kinds of people who can do this and do it productively. I, clearly, am not one of those people. I like telling my stories. I'm a much better "teller" than diary-keeper. oops, did I say 'diary'. Well yes I did. These things used to be called diaries. I wonder why that changed? Does "journal" sound more sophisticated? Not to me. To me it actually sounds pretentious. It ranks right up there with "parenting" (a word that used to be a noun before it became a verb)and "scrapbooking (another noun turned verb).

So "journal" if you can or if you must. It is not a critical part of reinventing yourself. A great facial, some professionally applied makeup and a strawberry margarita will work even better.

Nothing to Prove....at last

Most of our lives are spent trying to prove something to someone...or something to ourselves. Some of us set out to be the best Mom (oops I blew that one) or the best social worker or the most incredible cook. We look for accolades, job advancements, admiration from friends and family..whatever turns our crank. Our need to prove something drives us to work too hard, or too late, or too much. It's exhausting.

And then...as if by some magical spell, we stop. Or at least I did. In an epiphanous moment I realized that I no longer HAD to prove anything to anyone. It neither mattered (if it ever did matter) nor held a place of prominence in my life. I was suddenly free from all the BS I had heaped upon myself. I could breathe.

Not having to prove something gives you freedom to do whatever you want...even if you don't want to do anything. It's all okay. And I really believe that THIS is the key to successful reinvention.

I have reinvented myself into an Inert Being. My struggle to allow myself to simply drift through my life has been, in many ways, the hardest thing I've ever done. When people ask me what I "do", I usually say, "Nothing." And then I smile. It's kind of off-putting. I kind of like the way it makes people squirm. I am basically evil.

Now don't get the impression that I sit all day and stare at a wall. If I did that I'd be an inpatient at the local funny farm. No, I actually do things, but they aren't "meaningful" or "productive" in the sense that they used to be. I work part time as a caregiver, occasionally volunteer for a Hospice, and I have developed specialized skills in the area of puttering. I clean out closets, try out different crafts, waste time on Facebook,shop aimlessly, cook, and clean. It's a yawn. But it's MY yawn and I don't make excuses for it.

I've stopped visiting websites that instruct women on starting new careers (been there, done that, didn't work out). I just flow with the day. But, the best part is, I no longer battle with the "shoulds" and "have-tos" of a few short months ago. I don't care what I "should" do and, as for the "have-tos", who says I have to? Certainly not me. I have less and less guilt about this. It's very Zen.

I'm not sure I will stay this way forever. I will eventually get bored or restless because it is my nature. But, I believe that sitting on the tarmac like a jet waiting for clearance to take-off is a good thing. There is plenty of quiet time for inspiration...maybe even revelation. I may actually find out what it is that interests me, that fires me up. This will happen while I do nothing. I know it will. Just watch me.