There’s something deeply unfair about the way men and women get older.
A woman reaches a certain age and her body says:
“We’ll be changing the temperature, sleep schedule, waistline, and general operating procedures. There will be no training.”
A man reaches a certain age and says:
“I’ve been thinking about buying a motorcycle.”
Excuse me?
I’m standing in the kitchen trying to remember the word for spatula, and you’re downstairs researching leather trousers?
Apparently, we’re approaching this chapter differently.
My Change Came Without a Brochure
Nobody asked me what I wanted to do with this stage of life.
I would have chosen a little cottage by the water. Maybe pottery.
Instead, I got a personal heating system that activates while I’m paying for groceries.
Menopause arrives like an uninvited contractor.
“We’ve started renovations.”
What renovations?
“Well, your sleep is gone. We’ve moved some weight around. And the temperature controls are now operated from an undisclosed location.”
Meanwhile, his midlife crisis comes with options.
Sports car. Motorcycle. Guitar. Boat.
Mine came with a small fan that plugs into a USB port.
He gets horsepower.
I get three speeds and a charging cable.
He Wants to Find Himself
One day, a man who has spent twenty years sitting in the same chair announces:
“I feel like I need to find myself.”
Have you checked the garage?
Because that’s where you were for most of Saturday.
I’d quite like to find myself too. Specifically, the woman who could sleep through the night and get out of a low chair without preparing a strategy.
But I don’t have time for a journey of self-discovery.
I’m busy looking for the glasses I put somewhere safe while I was looking for my phone.
He wants to know who he really is.
I want to know why I’m holding a potato in the laundry room.
His Grey Hair Is Distinguished
This is where I would like to speak to management.
A man goes grey and suddenly he’s a silver fox.
Rugged. Sophisticated. Interesting.
A woman goes grey and someone gently asks:
“Have you thought about getting some highlights?”
Yes. I’ve also thought about telling you to mind your business, but apparently we’re both keeping things to ourselves.
His face develops lines and people say he has character.
Mine develops lines and an advertisement offers to correct the problem.
Why does his face get a backstory while mine gets a treatment plan?
I have character too.
Most of it developed while reminding someone where we keep the clean towels.
He’s Buying Youth. I’m Buying Comfortable Shoes.
His online shopping history:
Vintage convertible.
Electric guitar.
Motorcycle jackets.
Mine:
Supportive walking shoes.
Cooling pillow.
Can you buy reading glasses in bulk?
He’s imagining himself driving along an open road with the wind in his hair.
I’m imagining a hotel room with excellent air conditioning and a toilet that isn’t practically on the floor.
We both have dreams.
Mine just include sensible access to a bathroom.
Apparently, We’re Reinventing Ourselves
He announces he might grow his hair.
Wonderful.
Mine has decided to experiment with growing in places I never requested.
He’s considering a personal trainer.
I’m considering whether pulling the fitted sheet onto the last corner counts as resistance training.
He wants to start a band.
I want the people in this house to stop putting empty containers back in the fridge.
His new chapter has a soundtrack.
Mine has a repeated instruction.
His Clothes Get Younger. Mine Get Softer.
There’s a point in some men’s midlife crises when their wardrobe begins moving backwards through time.
Suddenly, a perfectly ordinary husband is trying on jeans that require more confidence than circulation.
“Do these look good?”
They look like getting your wallet out will require assistance.
Meanwhile, I’m in a changing room checking whether a waistband will allow me to sit down after lunch.
I no longer buy clothes based entirely on how they look.
I need to know how they behave.
Will this fabric breathe? Does that seam have an attitude? Can I take the cardigan off quickly?
And why does every lovely summer dress require a completely different bra?
He wants to look like he’s twenty-five.
I want pockets.
We Handle Our Mortality Differently
He realises life is short and decides he needs an adventure.
I realise life is short and decide I’m no longer going to events I don’t want to attend.
Honestly, mine is considerably cheaper.
He wants to climb a mountain.
I want to stop explaining why I’m leaving the party at nine.
He says, “We should do something we’ve never done before.”
Excellent.
You could plan supper from beginning to end.
Choose it. Buy the ingredients. Cook it. Notice afterwards that the kitchen exists.
Let’s both experience something new.
My Patience Has Retired Early
For years, I could smooth things over.
Make the arrangements. Remember the birthdays. Find the missing item. Listen to a long explanation of a problem I had already suggested a solution to.
Now there are days when my patience simply puts on its coat and leaves.
No notice. No forwarding address.
He says, “You’ve changed.”
Yes. There have been several updates.
Some were involuntary. Others I’m quite pleased with.
For example, I can now say, “No, that doesn’t work for me,” without immediately offering six alternative dates and a homemade dessert.
That took years to develop.
I’d hate to lose it.
Perhaps We’re Both Asking the Same Question
Underneath his sudden interest in motorcycles and my sudden refusal to wear uncomfortable trousers, perhaps we’re both wondering:
“What do I want the rest of my life to look like?”
That’s a fair question.
We’ve worked. Paid bills. Looked after people. Spent years being responsible.
Maybe he does want a new hobby.
Maybe I want more time for myself without having to explain what I’ll be doing with it.
Maybe there’s room for both.
He can learn the guitar.
I can sit outside with my coffee and enjoy a little peace.
Ideally, while he learns the guitar somewhere else.
Growing Old Together: Terms and Conditions Apply
I don’t begrudge a man a little excitement as he gets older.
Buy the jacket. Take the trip. Discover your passion.
But if your new passion requires financing, storage, and me helping you reverse a trailer, we’ll need to discuss it.
And while you’re rediscovering your youth, please remember that I’m navigating a few changes of my own.
A little kindness helps.
So does laughter.
So does hearing, “I’ve taken care of that,” about literally anything.
We can grow older together. We can even make it fun.
But if you come home on a motorcycle and ask why I’ve bought another fan, I will need a moment.
Possibly several.
Arctic Blonde Society — Did you get the hot flashes while he got a new hobby? Tell me what midlife looks like at your house.
