WordSisters

Older Like many women, I subscribed to O, The Oprah Magazine from its inaugural issue in 2000 to its last two decades later. Along the way, I tore out and saved a four-inch-high stack of articles and ads that has been sitting on an upstairs bookshelf ever since.

That stack included the ad pictured here. It was part of Chico’s 2018 “Growing Bolder Not Older” campaign designed to celebrate women and their desire for style at every age.”

I saved the ad because its headline proclaimed exactly what I expected to be doing as I aged…growing bolder, not older. 

One reason for my optimism was my grandmother, Valeria Szczech. Born in 1902, she lived most of her life on a Benton County farm and died in her sleep at age 92.

In between, she had no choice but to grow bolder. Life circumstances required it. Valeria’s mother had died of a heart attack on Valeria’s wedding day, leaving her partially responsible for several members of her extended family, including a brother who was unable to work due to a heart condition.

Then, in 1952, her husband, my grandfather, died a few weeks after the tractor he was working on exploded, leaving him severely burned on 90% of his body.

Despite his death, Valeria continued to live on the farm, milking cows, feeding chickens, canning vegetables and doing whatever else was needed, thankfully with the help of their son who lived only a farm-field away.

After her son’s too-early death, she sold the farm and moved to the small town of Foley, where she attended mass, made new friends, grew a large garden and provided full-time care for a brother made infirm by a stroke. 

I was in awe of her and her independence and assumed my grandmother’s get-up-and-go—and the get-up-and-go that I thrived on in my 40s and 50s—would continue through my 70s, 80s and even my 90s.

Unfortunately, at 66, I’m already finding that much of that get-up-and-go has gotten up and gone. At least temporarily. And although I do not think of myself as old, and some days not even as older, I am definitely not bolder. Nor do I strive to be.

Yes, I still enjoy meeting friends for coffee or a walk, but I’m no longer willing to drive in rush hour traffic to make it happen. Yes, I still travel, but not as often or as vigorously as I once did. And yes, I still walk, but more often solo in my own neighborhood rather than around the lakes with a friend.

At first, I blamed Covid. After all, where was there to go when nowhere was safe? But while fears of the virus have eased, my desire to go, go, go has not returned. Instead, I’m content being at home, purging files, clearing clutter, organizing cupboards and completing projects.

Does that make me less bold? Perhaps, but in keeping with one of Oprah’s signature phrases, “what I know for sure” is that I am growing older…and for that I am truly grateful.