Being 50 Is A Privilege To Be Fully Celebrated
At the height of my research on women in Second Adulthood, I organized a meal with some of the thoughtful women I’d interviewed over the past several years in celebration of our Flaming 50s. I started by calling up singer Judy Collins, who quickly exclaimed, “I wouldn’t miss it!”
The next half-dozen women I phoned were all just as positive. Among them were Congresswoman Lucille Roybal-Allard, the first Mexican-American woman elected to the House; Judith Jamison, artistic director of the Alvin Ailey American Dance Theater, and TV anchorwoman-turned-essayist and producer Linda Ellerbee.
I remembered Linda as perhaps the sexiest, earthiest newswoman on TV. But she brought the group down to earth with her first sentence: “I started out last year with breast cancer, so, although I’m 48, to me the flattering thing about being invited to this dinner was that someone thought I was going to live to be 50!”
Linda had other problems before the cancer: alcoholism, men - all our familiar vices. “But the whole last five years of my life - and this last year in particular - I truly have come to understand the words ‘state of grace,”’ she said. “I have never felt quite so alive or quite as grateful or aware about everything. And I think a lot of that comes not from the close brushes but from this five-oh - coming up to 50.” The weight of her next words sent shivers through us all. “We’ve been somewhere; we ARE somewhere.”
We realized that we all had been defined in our First Adulthood by our relations to others: husbands, children or the dominant fathers or mentors for whom we performed. One of the women said she hadn’t earned her first paycheck until she was 45. Judy Collins hadn’t written a check for herself until she was 42! But by the time they reach the Flaming 50s, most women have acquired the skills and self-knowledge to master complex environments and change the conditions around them.
Like so many women wishing for total acceptance from a parent, Judy Collins has had to overcome the habit of driving herself toward the perfection she subliminally hoped might finally secure her father’s love. Though blind, her late, alcoholic father played the piano well, but Judy was expected to fulfill his dream of becoming a serious musician. He fully supported her as a performer, yet she was invisible to him as a little girl. Her suicide attempt at 14 initiated a long battle with depressive episodes.
After the divorce and custody battles of her 20s, it became clear that Judy had a problem with alcohol. Her career ruled her, and she became dependent on her record company to “take care of me.” Reaching her late 30s, she was still acting like the gifted child, but by then, “my act was a total disaster. I couldn’t sing, I couldn’t work. The next step would have been a locked ward.” Her record company, Elektra Records, dropped her flat.
She told the group that the day after she committed to sobriety, she met a man with whom she has achieved the first mature love relationship of her life. By now she has developed the discipline to go into a locked room every day to compose music or write prose. She describes her transformation as “catching up the inside with the outside.” Affirmation came out of the blue when she was summoned by President Clinton to perform at his inaugural gala. There at the Lincoln Memorial she felt like part of American history.
“That was very thrilling to me,” Judy recalled. “Because that’s the visibility I never had with my father.” The sightless, selfish, adored father. “In other words, suddenly they not only hear me, but SEE me.”
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The following fields overflowed: CREDIT = Gail Sheehy Universal Press Syndicate