The Unhurried Arrival of the New Year

There is a specific kind of noise that happens every January. It’s a frantic, high-pitched hum of people trying to outrun their shadows, making lists of things they want to fix, change, or delete about themselves.

As women who have seen our share of winters, we know better. We know that the calendar turning is not a magic wand, and frankly, we’ve worked too hard on our souls to treat them like projects that need "fixing."

Standing here at the edge of a new year, I don’t feel the need for a "clean slate." I like the marks on my slate. They are proof of the life I’ve claimed. Instead of resolutions, I like who I am!

One of the favorite parts of this stage of life is that the "approval seeking"  has stopped.  This year, I am looking forward to the luxury of selective presence. I am no longer interested in being everywhere or knowing everyone. I am looking forward to the deep, quiet satisfaction of choosing exactly where my energy goes—and, where it doesn't. There is a fierce, quiet joy in being "unavailable" to the trivial so that I can be fully present for the profound.

Finding the "Deep Resonance"

In our youth, everything was new, but nothing had context. Now, we have the gift of recognition. When we see the first light of a January morning or feel the cold air on our skin, it is a weather event, and an experience, a memory. 

This year, I’m looking forward to living in the "thick" of things—listening to music that makes my ribcage ache, having conversations that skip the weather and go straight to the heart, and noticing the intricate beauty of a life that has been well-worn. We aren't just passing through time anymore; we are the keepers of it.

The world expects older women to either become invisible or become brittle. I choose neither. I am looking forward to a softened edge. A conscious decision to remain malleable. I want to be surprised. I want to change my mind because I’ve learned something new. I want to be the woman who laughs too loud at her own jokes and wears the velvet coat just because it feels good against her skin.

We are "Older Women Rock" not because we are trying to stay young, but because we have finally mastered the instruments of our own lives. We know the chords. We know when to belt it out and when to let the silence speak.

So, let’s leave the "New Year, New Me" talk to the amateurs about starting over; it’s about finally playing the music exactly the way we want to!

Marge Farrington OWRO