Mimi's Martini Wisdom: A Fish Fry Philosophy on Being All My Ages at Once
I don’t know how many self-help books, journal entries, or AI chats I have begun to discuss identity. I don’t recall ever feeling the need to define myself. For as long as I can remember, I felt confident as me and in some ways, I still do. I do remember being annoyed at having to discuss my identity. The most annoying part was finding a label or feeling like I was being put in a box. I hate the idea of people just assuming they know me or can predict my feelings. I don’t like the idea of fitting the mold. We’re all such unique individuals that we’re missing out on truly understanding each other if we’re labeling each other.
I know I’m sounding extreme. It’s not as if people are walking up to me on the street and asking me about my identity. And, let’s be real, in northern Minnesota no one is walking up to me on any street–we’re all out hiking or on the lake. If anything, we’re outdoors in conversation with each other and the topic comes up but I’ve always been a better listener so I’ve never had to discuss my identity.
When I was about 20 years old, I went out to Friday Fish Fry (gotta love northern Wisconsin! Iykyk) with my parents and their friends. One family friend, Mimi, was a fabulous lady. The kind of lady who would camp all summer at the lake, swimming and baiting her own fishing hooks, and then look gorgeous sipping a martini and smoking a cigarette at the bar. She asked me if I knew what I wanted to be when I grew up. Typical question of the age range I was in. Also, what a horrible question. I’ve always hated being asked that question but didn’t realize how much I hated it until I found myself asking teenagers the same thing. It makes a person vulnerable in a conversation that is meant to be surface-level. “Tell me your hopes and dreams for building your future life and I’ll immediately give feedback on whether or not you should/could do that,” is the message that I hear.
Mimi was the type of lady you could be honest with. She was recently widowed and still carried that confidence that most women envy. When Mimi asked a question, she truly wanted to know. No conversation with Mimi was surface-level. She was a woman who took interest in everything, but not in a gossipy way, in a worldly way. I love women who can find connections and offer advice that you weren’t even looking for. I told Mimi that I didn’t know and I was happy doing what I was doing at the moment. *Proud of myself for diverting a lengthy conversation about my future in a respectful way.*
She told me that sounded wonderful. 👀! I told her I was worried that life was going to happen before I figured out what I wanted to be when I grew up and then I would be late to the game therefore ruining any chance for me living out the “American Dream.” Drastic, I know, but anyone who’s lived in the generation of “graduate, college, career, marriage, kids, white picket fence, retirement” knows the feeling I am referring to. I remember her reply word for word: “Oh honey, you will be fabulous no matter what or when you decide to pursue a dream.” (See why Mimi was so amazing?) “I’m 60 years old now, but I’m the best version of me because I have that giddy 16 year old still in me. I have that 22 year old adventurous young lady in me. I have that newly wed inside of me. I have that career-driven woman still in me. And now, at 60, I get to be all of those things at once. If you take your time to figure out what you want, you’ll have all those ages in you too and that will make you great.” She paused for a sip from her martini and a drag from her cigarette. Then turned to me and smiled, “So you’re happy where you are now. That’s wonderful!”
I’ve never forgotten her response, nor will I, and every birthday since then I’ve never felt the impending doom of a timeline that I know many people do. I think of it as another year of experiences that I get to learn and grow from. I’ll add them to lessons from previous years and continue to be present in the moment instead of wishing for something bigger as I learn to find my identity.
