Travelling Solo and the Power of Invisibility
Heading off on a four-month pilgrimage to deepen my relationship with myself, tick some bucket list items off, and see what the world has to offer a "middle-aged woman" is like a treasure hunt.
As I got nearer my departure date, my mother started to worry. She wanted me to take a self-defence class. Little did she know I had already packed the ultimate self-defence kit item; a middle-aged woman’s invisibility cloak.
There are two things I’m entirely sick of in ageing parlance, the term “middle-aged” and the underestimation of the woman it is applied to. There are all sorts of judgements and expectations about what happens in a woman’s world once she gets past baby-making age, and unfortunately, being blind-sided by menopause doesn’t always help us mount a kick-arse response to those assumptions, but we should. It doesn’t have to be all 1dry vaginas and husbands going off-site, and if you’ve been able to throw some hormones at it, it NEVER has to be dry vaginas, but I can’t speak for the missing husbands (yawn, such a dull script).
I haven’t read any menopause books that don’t cover post-menopausal invisibility somewhere, and this often comes through in the stories of the women who contribute. For some, this state is embraced. It is a relief to be left alone to get on with life, but in the subtle detail of this state, we learn how very little we have evolved away from our basic biology.
I was recently on a five-day paddling trip with my daughter and her travel buddy, and most nights required hefting camping gear and supplies up a hill. They had attracted the attention of a couple of blokes closer to my age than theirs, and the men would turn up to offer to help carry the fertile young women’s loads (that this reason for the motivation was unconscious irked me the most). It was as if I wasn’t there, and it intrigued me and fucked me off in equal measure. I pointed it out to the girls, and we laughed about it, but I told them they would remember our conversation when they noticed the point it happened in their lives.
Fast-forward to my bohemian pilgrimage, and I have found my invisibility cloak invaluable, especially when staying in less desirable neighbourhoods to make travelling expenses cheaper. What I have learned, however, is that there are multiple settings to this superhero cape. You can turn the volume of invisibility up and down, AND you can take it off whenever you want! I kept mine turned on full in New York, which suited me just fine, especially in dodgy subway stations. But I have decided to take it off here in Italy, and the response has been interesting, just from an anthropological perspective, of course ;-) Seriously though, we have other settings too, and “washed up” isn’t one of them.
I’m not talking about sex, but I am talking about sexuality, amongst other things. The most transformative for me is the reconnection with my vitality, my vitalness. Yes, helped by sunshine and adventure, but these are simply nutrients for a life lived well. At this point, I find myself trying to overcorrect for my privilege of being able to access both of those things right now. I’m stopping myself from doing that. Adventure has many faces, and sunshine arrives when it arrives or is sought.
Swapping my invisibility cloak for a green linen dress and strolling up to the village square for the evening, the ecstasy of aloneness strikes me. My vitality doesn’t require another person to activate it, and neither does my sexuality. Simple wisdom, but I realise that simple follows complex, not vice versa. There is a completeness in this state that I have never felt to this degree before. I am whole. I feel my wise self laughing in delight at this moment of connection with me.
Yesterday in Amalfi, I took negligible solace from the masses and the heat at a seaside restaurant. I was still sweating and overwhelmed; no estrogen patch dose could have helped. An Aperol spritz didn’t either. It just put my muggy brain on a fairground ride that took a litre of water to correct. I finally settled enough to attempt lunch, and while eating, I listened to a conversation between two young women beside me.
“I’m just not sure what I expected,” one said.
“What do you mean?” the other asked.
“I don’t know…the peeling paint on the front of the buildings…I didn’t expect that….” she replied
My fork stopped midway to my mouth. She seemed disappointed to find a disconnect between her expectations and what she saw when she arrived. The advertising material she had consumed before choosing to come to Italy and the Amalfi Coast had clearly not shown peeling paint on the facade of this ‘magical’ place. My mind was spinning. I thought, “Oh my god, the peeling paint is the best bit!”
They brought me into the conversation soon after that, asking the usual questions about where I’m from and where I’m travelling to. When the woman who wasn’t so enchanted with the peeling paint talked about the places she had been and was going to, she used the words “done” and “do.” The difference between those words compared to “been” and “being” was jarring for me. I tried to check my judgement but couldn’t get away from the idea that she was missing the point. Chatting on the phone with a psychologist friend later that night, she described it as when the unknowing mind and the knowing mind haven’t yet connected.
There is history and perfect imperfection in the layers of paint. They peel to reveal the paradox of life; beauty and ugliness are the same thing. I’m aware that I’m clinging to story through poetry because some of my new understanding is beyond words, or at least how I can put the words together. But the degree to which I can appreciate this idea has expanded, and with it comes a greater sense of peace. And relief. I don’t have to “do” anything; I can just be, and I will notice more in the stillness.
I have a precious place in my soul where I put this treasure that no money can buy. My gratitude grows, my creativity swirls, and my heart beats red. I notice people notice this vitalness when I feel like taking my invisibility cape off. But all the goons on the river saw was an arm suspended in mid-air, handing them my bags.
Read - fatigue, brain fog, hot sweats, anxiety, insomnia, low libido…you get the picture.
I loved reading about your adventure. Fabulous!!
Great piece, the perception of 'middle age' as past our use by. Gad menopause was once descibed as 'change of life' by our motherrs, grandmothers of my age group (nearky 65) but we change all the time from being a girls into women, as we age change is inevitable for every decade. A woman's life can be a hormonal nightmare with so many 'changes' to get used to, can be hard to define what is physioligically' 'normal' and what is not...how many of ys 'put up with, shut up and trussed up to carry on regardlless' with no undersranding let alone sympathy or support from the eventually 'missing husband' because we were conditioned to do so? If we failed at it, ridiculed by the 'missing husband' who had never had a period cramp, ot heavy bleeding in his life and would cringe at the prospect of it. No point in filing a report on him as a 'missing person', he could have stayed missing and wished he had (x2) but hey that's just me. Menopausal symptoms, a somewhat farcical event as a trade off for years of periods, pre meno symptoms and symptoms of meno whhch I've noticed are still cyclic. There's no 'women's tent' in Western culture. How fortunate are friends who have said 'I flew through it, no problems ' when it appears I've been landed with 'the lot'. Lol...if it's at all funny. Alice Cooper said it all.in his song 'Only Women Bleed" 'The peeling paint is the best bit' luvvit Melissa, feel the same way about polishing an old piece of brass to make it look shiney and new but not with silver, go figure on that one lol. . In recent years have become a solo traveller at times too, overcoming anxiety, a feel the fear and do it thing and now that have I enjoy going solo as much as when I have company and also preferred to go solo. There's a particular personal freedom in it methinks. Enjoying your holidsy posts very much.