You thought you might be a ghost

 Dear future hubster, 
in the past few weeks I was informed by multiple people that they'd thought I'm much younger than the 42 I actually am. And I had that weird feeling where I think I should take it as a compliment but - I don't? 

And why should I? Why is looking younger considered a good thing? (And from when on? If I was 20, it would be rather concerning if I looked 10 years younger.) 

"I thought you were much younger" actually just means that I don't match whatever is their concept of a woman at 42. Which in and of itself wouldn't be a big deal - although it is probably rooted in patriarchal and prescriptive normes of what women of a certain age shouldn't be doing. Wearing cat stockings, short skirts, not matching earrings, for example, and certainly not sporting an undercut, being blunt and impatient, or having a foul mouth. Although swearing is frowned upon at any age - it is oh so not ladylike. 

That all of those are preconceptions that they couldn't explain or justify if I probed them a bit is maybe closer to the core of the issue, because those preconceptions often also come with value judgements, along the lines of "not aging gracefully", "trying too hard", "not age-appropriate" (what does that even mean??), etc.

What is even more problematic then is that when these exchanges happen in a work setting, the "I thought you were much younger" in my head sounds a lot like "I was so distracted by your looks that don't match with my preconceptions of your actual age that I looked past the work you do, didn't bother thinking how much time, effort, resources, experience it takes to do what you do - in short, I didn't take you seriously". 

Of course it's entirely possible that I'm making this up and they think the opposite and have been oh so impressed with what and how I do - and at such a young age! 

Entirely possible, if somewhat unlikely, and that's just not comforting enough for the level of self-doubt I already harbour, in a line of work where achievement is pretty hard to measure. But hey, I look young!

And don't even get me started on the deepy troubling idea of "calming down" or "becoming responsible" with age (again, a point of maturity decided somewhere in the dark corners of societal expectations, never transparently communicated or openly debated). 

That my personality, the way I experience life, how I seek and appreciate joy, and look for beauty, should be toned down after a while because - why exactly? Because I have seen enough hurt by now to know better than laugh out loud? Because I have been dragged down by life enough to just sit in a corner and count my blessings quietly? Because I have grown-up duties like paying taxes, holding the heart of grieving friends, buying toilet paper, protecting people from systemic hurt, so I shouldn't try to enjoy colours and patterns of my own clothes, and the flavours of my ice cream?

But that, dear future hubster, is no way to live.

If the world is burning and the people I love are in pain, all the more reason to put on the colours, bring out the fairy lights, and scream-giggle on the rollercoaster. Moments of joy happen unexpectedly, but choosing to accept them, to enjoy them, to honour them, is a conscious act. Sometimes a radical one. 

 May we all have it in us to choose them. May the unicorns and glitter support us. At any age.