From Pink to Red

suburbanoblivion — Mon, 12 Nov 2007 14:44:59 -0600

I remember thinking as a child that 30 was old. As old as dirt, and that at 30 you must have a foot in the grave already. You were ancient at 30. Funny how the perspective changes as the years go by.

I'm not 30 yet, but it certainly seems close as I turn 29 today. I'm feeling the weight of this milestone as I realize my 20's are pretty much over. Damn, where did the time go? As I look around it seems pretty obvious where it went- a divorce, a marriage, an adoption, 2 moves, several jobs, friendships discovered and lost, and the addition of 2 little boys who, despite their wily ways, have managed to capture my heart as thoroughly as their sister did 9 1/2 years ago.

A small part of me wants to hold on, for fear of what's to come at 30. I have crinkling at the corner of my eyes when I smile that will probably be more and more prominent in a year or two. I wonder if my first gray hair is just lurking somewhere, waiting for a bad hair day to pop up and scare me like a monster in a bad horror flick. The weight gets harder to lose the older I get, and I worry one day it will just look at me, laugh, and say it's there for good. Do not pass go, do not collect 200 dollars.

My 20's were pink. I wanted to prove to the world that I was still young, despite having kids. I wore things that I shouldn't have, thinking they made me look my age instead of looking like a mommy. Damnit, I was still sexy even if I did have kids, and I was determined to prove it! Don't you see me?? There is still a woman under these children! Look at me!!

As I edge into the brink of 30, I realize pink is indeed the color of youth. The color of inexperience. The color of cute.

I'm done with cute.

My 30's will be red. I have always feared red, feeling like it would overpower me, call attention to me, and show off how unsophisticated I was. Yet now at 29 I am starting to realize the power it holds. Not a fire engine red; no more of that desperate, 'look at me!!' here. A burgundy. The color of a finely aged wine ready to come into its own. The color of a silk gown that hints at curves but leaves them guessing. Strong and confident, but subtle. Sophisticated.

The French have a saying that life is too short to eat bad food or drink bad wine. It has taken me till 29 to grasp this, and I plan to not only embrace it, but revel in it.

From pink to red, the woman emerges.

Sara Johnson
http://www.suburbanoblivion.com

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From Pink to Red