A Glorious Freedom Read online

  To all the late bloomers.

  Copyright © 2017 by Lisa Congdon.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Names: Congdon, Lisa.

  Title: A glorious freedom : older women leading extraordinary lives / by Lisa Congdon.

  Description: San Francisco : Chronicle Books, [2017]

  Identifiers: LCCN 2016039249

  ISBN 9781452156200 (hc)

  ISBN 9781452156217 (epub, mobi)

  Subjects: LCSH: Women—Biography. | Self-realization in women. | Aging—Psychological aspects.

  Classification: LCC HQ1123 .G59 2017 | DDC 305.4—dc23 LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2016039249

  Chronicle Books LLC

  680 Second Street

  San Francisco, California 94107

  www.chroniclebooks.com

  CONTENTS

  INTRODUCTION

  by Lisa Congdon

  7

  “The Swell,” an essay by Caroline Paul 11

  Profile of Beatrice Wood 15

  Interview with Jennifer Hayden 16

  Profile of Vera Wang 23

  Interview with Christy Turlington Burns 24

  Profile of Louise Bourgeois 29

  “Because Love Let Me Be,” an essay by Jennifer Maerz 31

  Interview with Emily Kimball 35

  Profile of Sensei Keiko Fukuda 41

  “Roaring Over the Tiptoe,” an essay by Heather Armstrong 43

  Interview with Stephanie Young 48

  Profile of Laura Ingalls Wilder 53

  “The Unexpected, Exhilarating Freedom of Being Single at 41,” an essay by Glynnis MacNicol 54

  Profile of Minnie Pwerle 59

  Interview with Paola Gianturco 62

  Profile of Julia Child 69

  “True Roots,” an essay by Ronnie Citron-Fink 71

  Profile of Mary Delany 77

  Interview with Cheryl Strayed 78

  Profile of Sister Madonna Buder 83

  Interview with Zoe Ghahremani 84

  “Girl, You Don’t Know Nothing,” an essay by Tara Rodden Robinson 90

  Profile of Carmen Herrera 95

  Interview with Fay Westenhofer 96

  Profile of Helen Gurley Brown 101

  Interview with Della Wells 102

  Profile of Angela Morley 109

  “When They Arrived,” an essay by Shauna James Ahern 110

  Profile of Eva Zeisel 115

  Interview with Ilona Royce Smithkin 116

  Profile of Anna Arnold Hedgeman 121

  Interview with Debbie Millman 122

  Profile of Grandma Moses 131

  Interview with Dara Torres 132

  Profile of Katherine Johnson 137

  “Are You with Me?,” an essay by Chrissy Loader 138

  Profile of Marguerite Duras 143

  Interview with Betty Reid Soskin 144

  Acknowledgments

  150

  Bibliography

  150

  Credits

  152

  About the Author

  INTRODUCTION

  by

  “Age has given me what I was looking for my entire life—it has given me me. It has provided time and experience and failures and triumphs and time-tested friends who have helped me step into the shape that was waiting for me. I fit into me now. I have an organic life, finally, not necessarily the one people imagined for me, or tried to get me to have. I have the life I longed for. I have become the woman I hardly dared imagine I would be.”

  —Anne Lamott

  The book you are holding in your hands is a book about women. It is a book about women over the age of 40 who are thriving.

  You might ask, Why make this book? Why are the lives of older women worth celebrating?

  My own life’s path is what piqued my interest in the topic. I am a self-described late bloomer. The year this book is published, I will be 49 years old. By profession, I am an artist, an illustrator, and a writer. I did not begin drawing or painting until I was 31 years old. I did not begin my illustration career until I was 40. I did not begin writing regularly until I was 42. I did not publish my first book until I was 44.

  I did not get married until I was 45. I just published my seventh book. My eighth comes out next year.

  Every year that passes, I become braver, stronger, and freer. Getting older has, for me, been an enormously gratifying and liberating process. I am a kinder person to others than I have ever been, and I also care far less than I ever have about what other people think of me. I am both more determined and harder working than I was when I was younger, but I also value experiencing joy in my life over my work ethic more than I ever have. I am both more secure and more vulnerable. Out of years of living with intense insecurity and trepidation, the wisdom of age has taught me the importance of courage and that my own unique path is just that—my own unique path. Aging, as Anne Lamott so eloquently put it, has led me to myself.

  In an effort to express my feelings on the topic, I wrote a short essay on getting older in 2014 and published it on my blog. That essay was quickly shared by thousands on the Internet, both through my blog and through social media channels. Although I have a decent social media following and a devoted audience of blog readers, I am not a celebrity or a full-time blogger, so the attention this essay garnered was rather phenomenal. I realized that if the topic of getting older and thriving was resonating so strongly with so many women, then I needed to explore it further.

  And that is, of course, where the germ of this book sprouted. I had long admired some well-known late-blooming women and seen them as role models since I was in my 30s. I already had ideas of the women I wanted to include in this book. But I also used the power of social media to gather even more names and contacts. I began the process of making this book by reaching out to my Internet community (my social media followers and blog readers) with one basic request: help me find the women you know or admire who exemplify bold and adventurous aging—artists, writers, athletes, scientists, activists, thinkers, designers, and feminists over 40 who are embracing the positive aspects of getting older: the wisdom, emotional resilience, work ethic and play ethic, insight, and sense of humor that come with age. I asked my followers to help me identify women who were late bloomers, women who hit the apex of their careers later in life or who made some bold move to live in interesting ways after the age of 40.

  The response was astounding. I received emails from scores of men and women around the world with all flavor of submissions: long lists of women I should profile or interview, along with essay submissions from women about the process of aging, their relationship to aging, the struggles, the triumphs. The response to my call was, in fact, so astounding that I was literally overwhelmed with how to contain the potential for the book. I’d contracted with my publisher, Chronicle Books, to make a book that was 155 pages, and I was absolutely sure I’d have enough material to make a book five times that length!

  I set out to cull together the best of everything I received—to research and write about women I admire, to contact real-life female heroines for interviews, and to sift through the endless essay submissions for the book to fit it into the format you are holding in your hands.

  Historically and across cultural divides, women have been told to remain silent, to sit still, to hold back, not to shine. In addition, women have traditionally regarded their ability to please others—over following their own dreams and desires—as one of their greatest strengths. Furthermore, for countless generations, women have been told that once they hit middle age, their opportunity for greatness has passed
.

  And so the resilience and courage demonstrated by women, and, in particular, the ever-growing population of older women, to challenge and redefine these notions is one of the most exciting things to observe in the world today. We live in a time when more and more women are beginning to live out loud, to follow their own desires and dreams, to be who they are, to live fully, to live a second life after their children leave home, or their partners are no longer with them, or their previous careers are no longer meaningful.

  This book profiles many women who paved the way for us—women like Katherine Johnson, Louise Bourgeois, Julia Child, and others who were challenging notions of what it meant to be an “over-the-hill” woman long before today. Many of these women discovered hidden passions and talents much later in life or hit the most exciting and fruitful time of their careers as older women. They are, undeniably, role models for reimagining what our lives can be. The book also tells the stories of extraordinary women today who are reinventing what it means to be an older woman—women who are breaking through barriers, successfully completing athletic feats, and doing their best work in their 60s, 70s, and 80s.

  When I first put out a call for suggestions for the book, I got a handful of emails and Internet comments from older women for whom aging was actually not enjoyable or interesting—the onset of health issues was no fun at all, and the death of loved ones was a regular part of their lives. These perspectives are real. And so my point here isn’t to establish some sort of Pollyannaish portrayal of female aging. Things like bodily changes, shifts in the brain, and the experience of losing loved ones are very real (and often very painful) parts of growing older, and no one escapes them. However, I hope what we can see inside the stories in this book is the enormous potential for courage, perspective, spiritual growth, and humanity that often grow out of these struggles. My aim here is to provide hope to women who are aging (or fear aging) that, while the likelihood of ugly side effects grows ever larger, so too does our capacity for love, for compassion, for brave acts, for vulnerability, and for creativity.

  And so here I go—here we all go—leaning toward our 50s, 60s, 70s, 80s, 90s, hair graying, wrinkles gathering, experiences accruing, insights accumulating, joy abounding.

  No matter what your age or gender, may each of you find inspiration in this book to live bravely and fully, and to use your experience as your most powerful tool in living your best life.

  THE SWELL

  by

  One day I decided I wanted to be good at surfing. I was 49.

  It probably wasn’t the best use of my time, energy, ego. But, what the hell. I loved being pinballed by the waves. I loved the dolphins that often cruised by. I loved the pelicans, dipping toward the incoming swell to catch its lift, millimeters off the water, graceful, calm. Was it pity or disinterest, that glance they gave me as they passed and I attempted to lurch to my feet?

  And I loved the actual surfing, those few seconds when I managed to transition from prone to standing, and felt the board lunge forward.

  I had some things going against me, things that my advancing age didn’t help: knees stiff from almost ten surgeries, back when I was younger; one ankle that didn’t move well from an accident. I had fears about these things too, that by the time I was in my 50s I’d be limping and lopsided like someone in her 80s.

  So, vowing to get better at surfing wasn’t just a lark. It was a war cry against my injured body. Following each surgery, there had been a preview of life at old age: the catheters, the slow movements, the escaping groan as I maneuvered into the front seat of the car. It was more than the physical limitations, though. It was the feeling of fragility, as if I would be blown over by the slightest movement, and shattered into a million pieces.

  On the other hand, there’s nothing more robust than being in head-high waves, in 52-degree water. I didn’t even have to actually catch anything. I just had to be out there.

  The plan: for four days every month I would relocate to a house near an isolated Northern California surf spot. I’d leave my partner, Wendy, my cell phone reception, and my pride behind. I’d bring my work, my dog, and my willingness to be beat up by waves.

  There were rules: paddle out in almost anything; stay in the water for at least half an hour; arrive at the surf spot already in my wetsuit. This latter commandment was the strangest to most surfers, but I figured the hardest part of the sport was actually getting in the water, so any impediment, especially the hand-to-hand combat with the wetsuit while half naked in the morning cold, had to be removed. Accordingly, I got into my wetsuit at home, in the garage, then drove to the beach. This was a great idea, until the day I came upon an accident on the freeway. I walked around the middle lanes, looking like Batman. I peered into the shattered cars to offer assistance, but mostly just scared the occupants.

  I did paddle out in almost anything. On only a few occasions did I lumber back to my car, dry-haired, unsalted. Once the water had been flat. The other time, I came upon three sea kayakers pulling onto the shore. A great white shark had attacked one of the boats. Eyes wide, faces pale, they spoke over each other like auctioneers. I listened to the story. I marveled at the teeth marks in the plastic. Then, in a move most non-surfers won’t understand, I continued to the spot anyway. I looked at the waves for a while. They weren’t very good. I decided not to go in. It wouldn’t be worth it.

  “What waves would have been worth it?” Wendy said later, dismayed.

  When I wasn’t surfing, I was practicing. I began yoga. I made up a weird jumping routine in the gym. I watched surf videos. I turned 50.

  Here’s the thing about aging for women: we become invisible. The barista looks right through you when you give your coffee order. The teen on the skateboard narrowly misses you and doesn’t even swing her un-helmeted head your way. Straight or gay, you’re getting no response when you use your tried-and-true flirtation methods; the head tilt and slight smile fall flat, the penetrating stare looks creepy, the giggly laugh sounds like a symptom of unadjusted meds.

  The ages vary, but it happened to me around this time. I remember the moment. The checker at the store never caught my eye, didn’t seem to register a human was even there. He asked the corner of the counter if it had brought its own bag. He asked the rack full of candy if it wanted a receipt. I finally understood what my mother had been talking about.

  At first I was a little stunned. I was now officially unvalued by society.

  But here’s the thing. Invisibility is a superpower. Especially if you’re a surfer.

  So when people joined me at the surf spot, they didn’t pay much attention. If they did, they mostly felt sorry for me. They let me have waves that were rightfully theirs. I faded in and out of their consciousness, depending on how distracting the conditions were. I was left to my own learning curve. I could suffer my small humiliations in peace. This meant I wiped out a lot. This meant that I was often “caught inside.” Incoming waves dropped on me like giant pianos from a Saturday-morning cartoon. After one such session, I lurched to shore spitting saltwater from my mouth, wiping it from my eyes, watching it stream from my nose, and a surfer walked over. His eyebrows were lifted, his mouth curved in a half smile. He’d been watching, he said, and couldn’t believe I hadn’t just given up, but instead kept paddling to get past the break (and finally did). I said, “Yes, I’m pretty bad at this sport,” and gave him a sheepish smile. Where had my invisibility shield gone? Then I realized: from that distance he’d thought I was a man.

  “Well, I wouldn’t have kept trying,” he said. There was admiration in his voice.

  I became a better surfer. Not good, mind you, but better. I enjoyed each small advance. Because these are the gifts of being older: little to prove, (mostly) invisible.

  A glorious freedom.

  So no one noticed but me: last month, there was a quick get-up. This month, a longer ride. Next month, a turn? A graceful exit from the wave? It didn’t matter. It only mattered that I was out there, a vague quest
urging me on, those endless mistakes, those brief moments of triumph, unseen by most, but celebrated by me.

  Caroline Paul is the author of Fighting Fire, a memoir about being a San Francisco firefighter; the historical novel East Wind, Rain, which is based on true events during World War II; the illustrated memoir Lost Cat: A True Story of Love, Desperation, and GPS Technology, considered one of the best biographies of 2013 by Brain Pickings; and the New York Times bestseller The Gutsy Girl: Escapades for Your Life of Epic Adventure, which aims to inspire and encourage bravery in girls.

  lived a vibrant bohemian life immersed in the avant-garde art movement before she found her passion for ceramics, producing most of her work in the last twenty-five years of her long life.

  Born in San Francisco in 1893, Beatrice had a childhood rich in art, travel, and culture, but she was rebellious and restless from an early age. Rejecting her mother’s plans for her debut in society, Beatrice left for Europe to study painting and acting. Her parents insisted she return to the States at the advent of World War I, and she immersed herself in the bohemian culture of New York. She met the writer Henri-Pierre Roché and the artist Marcel Duchamp, and the three created the Dada art magazine The Blind Man. Beatrice became known as the “Mama of Dada” for her association with and support of avant-garde artists. In the 1920s, she became interested in the Theosophy movement and started following the Indian sage Krishnamurti, following him to California.

  While living in Southern California in the 1930s, Beatrice was frustrated that she couldn’t find a teapot to match some pottery she had brought home from Holland, so she enrolled in a ceramics course to make her own. Initially believing that she was not meant to work with her hands, she persevered and fell in love with the craft. In her late 40s, she studied pottery techniques and developed her own free and expressive style, creating both traditional vessels and primitive figurative sculptures. She opened a studio in Ojai, California, near her spiritual teacher Krishnamurti, and continued to hone her craft and distinctive style of glazing. Soon, she began catching the eye of galleries and collectors.