No More Mojo?
It’s never too late to have a happy childhood.
Back in my plucky days, I worried about what people thought of me. Did my hair look alright? Was I dressed appropriately? Did I have spinach in my teeth?
Now that my audacious has taken leave of its senses, I have the strongest sensation of floating…above the clouds, above the judgement of others, and above my desire to give a damn.
What freedom! My hair roams where it desires, usually on my head, but since I rarely look in mirrors, it could be anywhere. I’ve set it free, just like I’m finally free.
Clothes? Denim is my uniform of the day, every day, the plumage of the baby boomer. You can usually spot me, with or without your binoculars, by the faded denim jeans and jackets I wear. If they’re ripped, it’s because I’ve had them since the 60’s, not because I am into the latest fashion. Beholden to no one or any expectation, I strive to rise above the opinions of others.
I will occasionally glance in a mirror while I’m sitting at a red light and notice that I’ve got the spinach from last night’s dinner rooted in my front teeth. Wait. This means I haven’t brushed or flossed twice the number of times the dentist recommends…last night and this morning. Perhaps lack of caring is hazardous to my health, at least to my teeth.
Sometimes I’ll lament my lack of concern for my appearance. But I quickly get over it, or forget about it, or whatever happens when I decide that I no longer care one whit what anyone thinks.
It feels like freedom, but is it a good thing? Should this be something to worry about, like the blank spot in my vision when I read a book? Or the fact that I only hear something when my kids scream at me? It’s not their voices that get my attention; it’s their scowls and frowns pointed in my direction. “Oh,” I say, “did you say something?” By then, they’re so aggravated, they mumble “Nothing.” Hmmm...just like my father used to do to me. It’s a pattern of all of us aging folks. Call it mojo-deficiency or just don’t want to be bothered anymore. Bottom line…we don’t care, and it feels great.
But, wait. Don’t I want my kids to worry about me, at least sometimes? There will be the times when I find myself in a strange place with no recollection of how I got there. Wouldn’t I want them to be aware that I need help?
This is the challenge. When will they encroach on my freedom and when will they be salvaging the bits of me that need safety?
Until someone can answer that question, damn it, I’m not losing my mojo. I’m maintaining my independence.
Hello, I’m Janet, career coach, writer, workshop leader.
I help women create their best lives through personal writing.