Lessons I Learned on my 40th Birthday Trip to New York
by Daphne Young
1. Stamina! A drowsy West Coast or less aggressive Midwestern lifestyle can lull one into a comfortable misunderstanding of physical prowess. Two miles seems like a walk requiring sensible shoes and loose-fitting clothes. It’s exercise. In New York, on my fortieth year, I casually and unknowingly logged over ten miles of continuous hoofing in heels with a snug dress and make up. Energized by the beauty of Central Park, the commerce-fueled bustle of 5th Avenue and the appreciative hungry-eyed Tom Wolfe gents of Central Park West, I felt as light as air and unstoppable. Hours later, while lying on the couch drinking my second bottle of wine (you don’t need Gatorade to replace electrolytes after a damn walk!) I did pull a never-before-recognized muscle in my inner thigh. Luckily Matt, a friend from the tumbleweed town of Tucson made good as a Manhattan tax attorney, brought home a cache of Makers Mark and administered its medicinal properties like a doctor of the Old West.
2. Irresponsibility! After years of regimented responsibility, it is difficult to shift back to that teenaged sense of complete indifference to rules, routines and correct behavior. I had plans to eat sensibly, drink moderately, arrange my days to fit in a requisite amount of cultural activities and social calls but everything became propelled by raw id, completely devoid of propriety, schedules or forethought, and the nights blended into a beautiful bender. Matt and I might have a pleasant mid-afternoon conversation to outline the evening, but with the pop of the first cork minutes after he crossed the threshold, all the lists of the day dissolved. Wild-eyed and frantically bantering at four in the morning while sharing hidden music archives, favorite art pieces and never-to-be-spoken-of-again personal tidbits, I realized that these inspired, completely spontaneous intimacies are what excite me the most. They seem impossible to plot out, manic in their edge-of-the-couch invention and impossible to shut down for the necessity of a proper dinner or tomorrow’s work agenda (see Stamina!)
3. Invention! It is easy to become complacent with a personal narrative. Everyone has old chestnuts they pull out at a dinner party. Usually, these stories work because the timing is good, the phrasing has been revised over multiple performances and the tale leads to a terrific (and socially relevant to the listener) punchline that solidifies your role as good company. At a certain age, we stop inventing as much and archive more. At the Metropolitan Museum of Art, surrounded by the Great Masters, I mentioned to Matt that it would be funny if someone replaced the traditional audiotapes describing the art with subversive tapes that sounded correct but offered a lot of misinformation or moments that were suddenly unprofessional. This launched a running shtick that lasted most of the day. We would share “intellectual commentary” on a painting, then add completely absurd make-believe elements, historical inaccuracies, or idiotic observations. Matt’s were always way better than mine, but we made an equally annoying pair standing before a Joan Miro painting while Matt provided much credible artistic analysis ending in, “And seriously, it was a DUDE named JOAN!”
4. Prowess! While people say certain ages are the new ages minus ten years, they’re mostly not. Forty is pretty much forty and fraught with the same shrugging sense of not knowing as twenty. We are also programmed to believe that being forty as a woman means you are a desperate hag that no one wants. Completely disinterested in a relationship, I felt like a field observer on the streets of New York who can anthropologically report findings/tips to women currently interested in companionship (Note: Concepts are detailed for old lady heteros, so make your own changes to cover man-on-woman, woman-on-woman or man-on-man)
5. Looking: New York is filled with so many excitable-eyed types that you suddenly become aware of how important it is to hold a gaze, let it linger and finally respond when it becomes uncomfortable to keep staring. A nice young police officer at a deli purchased my soda after we shared a secret smile in line. As I rummaged for changed in my purse, he produced two bills and said, “It’s on me.” There were plenty of meaningless flirty chitchats each day because I decided to practice these little engagements knowing that I would not follow through on them (this is easier to do in a town where you don’t reside).
6. Make Up and Dyed Hair: Men claim they prefer natural girls but mostly they mean girls with more naturally colored highlights and lighter application of foundation with an unobtrusive lip color and just a touch of mascara. Please don’t feel bad that you are less initially lovable at face value as that will come later. The collecting and courting phase requires a little artifice and I actually feel it is more honest (the external fakery matches the internal fakery that we carefully dole out in the initial weeks of dating). I think due to societal programming, dyed hair and makeup makes men think you like them and that you have showered. If you don’t do these things, you narrow your pool to campers, peacocks who wish to shine on your dime (get ready to pick up the check!), late-in-life weed smokers, very vocal man feminists (aka closet pervs), underachievers, guys in religions that require women to be plain, or, the very worst of the bunch, extremely loving and healthy fellows with realistic expectations and a true understanding of the human heart.
7. Confidence: Being slightly overweight and middle aged is not routinely heralded in fashion magazines, but in real life it’s OK as long as you are lively, not frazzled, tidy and pleasant. You don’t even need 100% real confidence, just a general sense of wellbeing, lack of jitters and a take-it-or-leave-it attitude about whatever situation you are in.
8. Hosting and Houseguesting! If the host and houseguest seek to one-up each other in good behavior, the visit is a success. When I accidentally streaked my host’s towel (hair color and make up-see Prowess-not the other!), I didn’t just replace it with any white towel, I appreciated the make, model, brand and fabric content (in this case Pottery Barn 100% Turkish Cotton with a two-striped band) and replaced it with an exact replica. Wiping down surfaces, being fastidious and removing evidence of last night’s drunkenness is the duty of the houseguest. My host relinquished his bed, wines, keys, time and energy to ensure the trip was perfection. He planned in advance so I was able to waltz through my vacation without figuring out anything complicated. Making one’s world navigable, enchanting and deceptively easy (as well as keeping the guest inebriated and overstimulated) is the job of the host. As a result, we both missed each other rather than experiencing the guilty relief that often comes from parting.
9. Appreciation! I don’t tend to prefer people who seize the day, live in the moment or express “gratitude” too much. The minute they start “being present” I feel their spiritual fullness impinges upon my vacant-by-choice space. Still, it’s good to reflect on a lovely moment and be truly appreciative of the effort and kindness it took to create it. Little joys, such as a group of friends finding time in their extremely busy schedules to meet for dinner or realizing that even though I thought my style was completely out of fashion, it turns out it is just cheaper than necessary but still moderately relevant, these things are worth a nod to the universe. I had a terrific time in New York and eased into forty without realizing it. There was no shattering sense of the inevitability or time, no sense of urgency to find ________(a better job, love, material upgrades), no fear of the unknown and no decrepit impending doom. I get grossed out by the acknowledgement of “authenticity” because the act alone is so inauthentic. If one is being authentically authentic, it would be impossible to know because a chief component would be just living so truthfully invested in each second that to become retrospective would be impossible due to rushing, cell by cell, forward. Because of the lost days and pockets of time where I lacked all sense of awareness, I truly appreciate my trip and everyone from Phoenix to New York who made it possible. That feeling of alertness and wide-eyed interest in the world propels us because it is the most conscious impression of being alive. When people talk about life as “a gift” it usually makes me gag but being around so much energetic living made me believe it is true. Give me a week and I’ll be taking life for granted again, but as far as accepting it as a birthday gift, it’s good that I can appreciate it fully for a short time and play with it now and again, rather than just admiring the paper and shaking the box.
Daphne’s short story “Screw Worm: Larva of the American Blowfly” was published in the Wisconsin Review and her prize-winning play “Bleaching Liver With the Company Man” was produced by E.A.T (the English Alternative Theater at the University of Kansas).