Identity crisis

So it’s come to this: People can no longer tell Julie and me apart.

I let my gray hair grow out during the pandemic, and Julie (my spouse) lost quite a bit of weight. These seemingly minor changes have apparently turned us into identical twins.

Neighbors we’ve known for years have begun commenting on my amazing diet(!).

Others simply refuse to use our names for fear they’ll have gotten us confused.

Our neighbor Mary Clare – one of the few who can tell us apart – says that all the young people on our block think we oldsters are indistinguishable from one another.

Julie doesn’t mind this one bit, although you’d think she would because she’s almost seven years younger than me.

I, however, am distraught about it. I feel invisible enough as it is, but this new slap in the face is particularly painful. I feel like I’ve lost my identity.

***

It’s nothing new, this complaint that we become invisible in society as we get older. And most of the time I can deal with it. I’m unseen at the grocery store, a phantom on my morning walk with Buster (he gets all the attention!), one of a gray herd in line at the colonoscopy center.

That’s not a huge turnabout for me. I was never whistled at on the street anyway.

But every so often I’d get a respectful compliment in unexpected places. I have to admit that I miss that – being noticed.

Heck, someone at my workplace – whom I didn’t know well – was once overheard saying that I was “smoldering.” Now I’m just a pile of dry kindling.

***

A few weeks ago, when Julie and I were both in line for a crab sandwich at the ballpark, the vendor insisted that we had to be sisters. We corrected her but it didn’t matter – she continued to repeat it as if she didn’t believe us. I mean, did she not see my Italian nose?!

Maybe as we age we just become shriveled, interchangeable apple dolls.

(By the way, this “sister” thing has been happening to me for decades. Once in the 1980s I was at the beach with my girlfriend Cynthia and someone asked us if we were sisters. Why this is so important to strangers is beyond me – never mind that I was pale and blue-eyed and she was an olive-skinned Latina!)

***

Like all of us, I suppose, I once thought that I would be immune to the endowments of old age. I was young, lean, and athletic, without a malady in the world. And my body held up for a long time. But my rude awakening has finally come. Recently I tried on half a dozen pairs of nice pants I’d bought only about five years ago. After all, I still weigh the same. But for the most part, I couldn’t even button them! Only one of them fit, and I had to donate the rest. What on earth had happened? I guess the bulky items had shifted, and my waist had suddenly expanded. I flew into a rage.

***

This melancholy of mine, though, is not just about looks. It’s more about being recognized as a human being with a meaningful history and valuable ideas.

I have to say, throughout my life I’ve always been interested in other people no matter what their age.

Don’t get me wrong. Like nearly everyone else, I was a selfish young person. When I go through my diaries today, I want to apologize to every person I’ve ever met.

But I was nonetheless curious about others. As a child I couldn’t get enough of the stories my relatives on both sides would tell. I peppered them with questions. I laughed at their tales, which I always found hilarious. I made sure to interview my parents as they got older.

But I have no children, and no one seems to care what my story is or what I have to add. No one wants to interview me.

Now I know what my mother meant when, in her later years, she would lament that “It’s as if I’m not here.”

***

Mindful of my half-full glass, I’ll admit that sometimes being visibly “of a certain age” can offer an advantage. Not long ago I left a Giants ballgame alone and decided to walk as far as possible towards home. I felt good and strong and practically youthful as I covered almost 4 miles before giving in and boarding a jam-packed Muni Metro train at Castro station. Almost immediately a young man gave me his seat. I was actually happy to park my stiffening back, and of course I was grateful to him. But it also meant that my age was strikingly apparent.

***

Last week, though, brought the ultimate indignity.

Julie needed to use my desktop computer. It’s set so that when it’s in “sleep” mode, it uses facial recognition to wake up. I need to be sitting in front of my webcam or else it doesn’t turn on.

Julie plopped down in front of the computer and it immediately came to life.

“Good morning, Paula!” it announced cheerily.

***

Due to popular demand, I am including, at the end of each blog post, the latest random diary entries that I’ve been posting on Facebook for “Throwback Thursday.” These are all taken absolutely verbatim from the lengthy diaries I kept between 1970 and 1987.

March 18, 1975 [age 19]:

“This is gonna make you, the reader – myself in future times – laugh, but the main event of today was getting my eyebrows plucked. A new look begins. I went up to [my hairdresser neighbor] Mrs. Rosales’ house and had her perform the operation. O, the pain was horrible! My eyes were swollen with irritation and tears. [Her daughter] Susan put lipstick on me before I left, which I quickly wiped off as soon as I got home. But I think it’s all made a big impression on me. Soon I’ll learn to roll my hair and maybe put on a little bit of makeup and wear sexier clothes. I have only 6 months left of teenagerhood and I need to learn how to be an adult – their tricks, their games, their crazy ways.”

March 19, 1975 [age 19]:

“I had seven pancakes, an egg, and hot chocolate at Uncle John’s [Pancake House] this morning. They were having their usual Wednesday morning 79-cent all-you-can-eat special. I wanted some biscuits as a side dish but they wouldn’t allow it in the 79 cents.”

March 20, 1975 [age 19]:

“I keep telling myself that there are countless things I’ve got to think about – countless ways I could change my personality, countless goals to create. But I haven’t had a moment to spare since last summer. Not one moment to spend outside on the balcony with a beer and a star, pondering myself and my link with the future. In fact, I even wrote on my things-to-do list: ‘Think about yourself!’ because otherwise I’d forget.”