Recently, during a flight to Chicago, a young woman in her twenties referred to me as “Ma’am.” I was en route to a reunion with a fabulous group of ladies we dubbed the “Sisterhood” back in graduate school, a time when I was still in my 30s and not yet grappling with the weight of aging. At that time, no one would have thought to call me “Ma’am.”
Yet, there I was, seated on the plane, when this bright-eyed blonde, her skin smooth and taut, used the term as she navigated past me to her window seat. The way she said it felt oddly formal and distanced, as if I were someone who might break if nudged too hard. I wasn’t invisible to her, but I was perceived as someone from another era, a different generation. Old.
I chuckled about this encounter during our reunion, sharing it on social media as a humorous anecdote. How absurd, I thought, to be labeled “Ma’am” by someone so young! But deep down, the incident tugged at my insecurities. Looking in the mirror, I could see the hollows and lines forming on my face, a stark contrast to the youthful image I held in my mind. In my heart, I still felt vibrant and full of life—still learning how to navigate this world.
In graduate school, I often felt like the oldest one in the room, with at least a decade’s worth of experience on many of my classmates, who were just embarking on their careers. While they chased their childhood dreams of becoming writers, I was pursuing a new dream after leaving behind my career as an entertainment lawyer.
The Sisterhood was formed during my second year of grad school. We weren’t significantly older than our peers, but we had life experiences that set us apart. We had all transitioned from careers in advertising, journalism, and even law, and while I often felt like an outsider due to my constant travel between cities, I found a genuine connection with these women. We were labeled “Sisterhood” not because of our ages but because we had faced the world with more wisdom and resilience.
Fast forward to our reunion in Chicago, and we had all aged a bit. Our hair had grayed, and our faces bore the marks of time. Yet, despite the years that had passed, the brilliance and kindness of each woman still shone through. We had become writers, but we were also mothers, wives, editors, and mentors. We had weathered successes and failures, faced fears, and grown in ways we never anticipated.
But that moment on the plane still lingers in my mind. I don’t yearn for youth, as I appreciate the confidence and freedom that come with age. I relish in not being overly concerned about my appearance or the judgment of others; I’ve embraced my authentic self. However, the echoes of youthful insecurities remain. The doubt about my worth, the desire to make my parents proud, and the longing for my mother’s reassuring embrace during tough times still haunt me.
I never thought I’d feel so young while aging. My childhood self, the perfectionist teenager, the middle-aged woman who took risks—all those versions of me continue to swirl within. I’m a mother now, teaching my son about kindness, and he comforts me when I’m feeling overwhelmed, reminding me that we can always start anew.
During that Sisterhood reunion, we shared stories about parenting, love, and balancing careers with family responsibilities. We laughed and even swooned over the latest movie, feeling like teenagers again while recognizing the lessons we needed to impart to our sons about respect and consent.
The complexities of age and youth are intertwined, and I’ve come to accept that every experience shapes us. Each stage of life brings its challenges, but perhaps that’s the gift of growing older—embracing the entirety of our experiences and realizing they make us who we are.
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Summary
In this reflection, the author contemplates the surprising feeling of youth amidst the realities of aging. Through personal anecdotes, she explores the insecurities that linger even as she embraces her identity and experiences as a mother and writer. The Sisterhood reunion serves as a reminder of the complexities of life, where both youth and age coexist, shaping who we become.
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