Coming to grips with the downslope

When, exactly, did I lose it? I remember noticing it happening four years ago when I took my then-16-year-old stunning daughter to Costa Rica. That’s when I found that I would forever be invisible as a woman when she was around. But she isn’t around now. She’s literally on the opposite side of the world, living her life. So I can’t unload this on her. Not now. Now it’s on me. Now I’ve become invisible all on my own.

I’m not talking about when I’m waiting in line at a store and people pretend I’m not there. This is much more personal. This is about dealing with something I figured was coming…you know…someday down the road. After applying to the Peace Corps there is a lot of medical testing and poking and prodding to go through. Things to be discussed with doctors and decisions to be made. This happens in two phases; once for pre-medical clearance and again, more intensely, once you receive an invitation. Well, in my own situation, I had to decide whether to continue taking a hormone-providing medication or not. I weighed the pros and cons and decided I really didn’t want to take a chance on having to deal with possibly going through menopause while I was in a foreign country trying to learn a new language and impress people. I mean, how impressed would they be with a woman who suddenly had to stop everything and start flapping her clothes? Things were going to be stressful enough…menopause could wait! Meds are my friends while I’m here.

The downside to hormone medication is, well, even when you’re older you still have hopes that you’re attractive to the opposite sex. You still feel vivacious. You still look at men and, well, wonder. You still hope.

The downside to being over 50 and a single Peace Corps volunteer is most of my cohorts are half my age. The young women are pretty and flirtatious and competing with them is completely out of the question. The young men, even if they’re attractive, are most certainly not looking at me “that” way. I could be most of their mothers. And this kind of sucks. Because I’m not ready for that yet! I’m not ready to be brushed aside and overlooked. I’m not ready to be gender-neutral, a piece of the scenery. I’m already a source of complete confusion for the people of Azerbaijan, what with my short hair, athletic build and fondness for my one pair of jeans. A friend told me her counterpart saw my photo and actually asked her whether I was a man or a woman.

So with the locals, I’m used to the uncomfortable staring. It’s just harder to take, somehow, when your fellow Americans, the ones who actually understand most of what you’re going through, act like you’re not there. When you see you missed a call then check your texts and have them tell you your number was dialed on accident. When you get a message from a guy you have secretly thought about for a year only to have them be asking for another woman’s phone number. When you go out in Baku with the younger set (because you love to sing and dance and want to make friends) and end up being ignored by the time a couple of hours have gone by. I get it. Nobody owes me anything. They don’t owe me attention. It’s not their job to make me feel wanted or desired or anything. Honestly, I understand and accept that. But it doesn’t make it an easy pill to swallow.

For the next year, then, I’ll keep swallowing those pills. And maybe by then I’ll have come to grips with this downslope of life as a 50+-year-old woman.