life with more cowbell

Heading into the final month of rehearsals for Alumnae Theatre’s upcoming production of Age of Arousal, by Linda Griffiths – wildly inspired by The Odd Women, by George Gissing – I’m struck by the myriad insights, emotions and questions that have emerged as I explore playing a woman of my own age and sexual orientation, living in Victorian times. While I was happily surprised at getting to play my own age and sexual orientation, I was challenged by the issues that I discovered as a result.

My character, Mary Barfoot, is a charismatic, youthful 60-year-old former suffrage activist turned owner/operator of a secretarial school for women, which she runs with her protégé and lover, the sharp and zealous 35-year-old Rhoda. There’s something that Rhoda says early on in the play that always strikes me as being as true now as it was then: “Women must come to grips with two things in this age. Loneliness and money.”

As someone who’s been single and lived alone for most of my adult life – and laid off from a long-term permanent full-time job with benefits nearly 10 years ago – I can relate. At the time of my layoff (I was in my early 50s), I naively believed that, with all my experience, a good résumé and glowing references, I would eventually find another full-time job. I was also told, “You’re still young” and believed it. I was wrong. Between my age and a growing use of editing software (and now AI) making human copy editors (and even writers) nearly obsolete, there were few options, especially given my niche experience. A good writer, I took copy writing classes and thought I may be able to transition into another career path. And, while age was never stated outright as a barrier, during an informational interview I took with a professional copy writer, I was flatly discouraged from taking such a detour. A younger person’s game? I became a reluctant freelancer and continued my job search, with my former employer being my main client. As the years went by, I was able to secure more freelance, contract and, finally, permanent part-time work as a content writer – and I’ve been able to stitch together a living, though with a significantly reduced income. And, full disclosure, the older I got, the less attractive full-time employment became – especially in the corporate world.

Mary’s career transition made me consider my own – though mine was precipitated by circumstances that weren’t nearly as dire. A survivor of imprisonment and torture, including force feeding when she went on a hunger strike, she needed to take her activism in a less physically punishing direction. She did what she needed to do out of self-preservation and to be of use in a way that reflected her values. And I like to think I have done so as well.

Even more so – it was her life transition that resonated, and in a not entirely comfortable way. Aging on her own terms, with a much younger lover/colleague, she nonetheless has to come to grips with the inevitable: advancing old age and death. She’s in the latter half of the “back nine” as my parents would say, using golf terminology to talk about human life stages – a remarkable feat, given the time period, as she’s lasted longer than most. By today’s standards, I’m in the second half of the back nine – and, like Mary, I find myself looking back as well as forward, and thinking about love, friendship, legacy and what I have to offer the world.

And Mary wonders about not just her own demise, but that of her relationship. Is it coming to a natural, organic end – or is it also transitioning? The 25-year age difference, in a same-sex relationship, makes Mary and Rhoda’s relationship especially challenging – especially in the Victorian social climate – not to mention the inherent power imbalance in their age gap and working relationship. All relationships undergo dynamic shifts – some couples are able to navigate them and others are not. And is it fair to expect that someone so much younger, at such a different life stage – someone on her own journey of growth and self-actualization – would stay with her, as her lover, till the end? Mary’s relationship status made me question how I would handle such a circumstance – and if I would even consider such a situation – and hearkened back to my own previous relationships, which, while they ended amicably, were heartbreaking nonetheless. One in particular keeps coming to mind throughout the rehearsal process, poking a 25-year-old wound that I thought had healed long ago. Apparently not. So I use it in the scene work and strive to take good care of myself outside of performance.

I’ve also been wondering: Can I afford to continue living alone? With the cost of living far outpacing income even more than before (especially since my layoff), I wonder if I’ll be able to keep my own apartment – or even stay in Toronto. Of course, rents have gone up all over – and, having been in my home for nearly 12 years, with my current income I wouldn’t be able to afford a new place on my own, pretty much anywhere. I’ve been joking with friends how I may need to find a Golden Girls situation and live with roommates, other women of a certain age. But only half-joking, as it may be a necessary transition should I need to leave my current home.

In the absence of a romantic or life partner, my late cat Camille, who I said goodbye to in the fall of 2023 when she succumbed to kidney disease, had been the love of my life. There too, financial constraints forced a difficult decision to not adopt another cat. Plus, if I did need to move in with roommates, it would be easier if it was just me. That and the possibility of my furry companion outliving me was too much to bear. So, there is now no one to “grow old with” or offer mutual support – not even of the feline variety. And, while I’m an introvert who enjoys – and even thrives – on solitude, these past several years of working from home (plus enduring COVID-19 lockdowns) have been lonely at times. So, I also wonder if I can, psychologically and emotionally, continue to live alone. Loneliness and money.

In my darkest hours, I question the paths I took – studying the arts, but choosing to not go to teacher’s college as expected, and coming out as a lesbian in my mid-twenties. Paths that are true to myself – but steep and winding ones, to be sure. I sometimes wonder what my life would’ve been like had I become a high school art teacher, not come out – or even married a man. I even occasionally wish that I was “like everyone else” – working a straight job and living a straight life. But that would mean not being my true, authentic self – and such paths would be much more painful and self-destructive than anything that I’m experiencing on my current journey.

I continue in hope, striving to stay present and open, being mindful, and practicing kindness and radical acceptance along the way. Life may not turn out how you wanted or expected – and that can be okay. And it can be even better than what you imagined. I am grateful for supportive, loving family, friends and chosen family – including my remarkable Age of Arousal colleagues. They remind me that I’m valued, cared about and have something to contribute. And, most importantly, they remind me that I’m not alone.

Alumnae Theatre’s production of Age of Arousal runs March 12 – 23 in the Studio theatre. Check out the event listing I created for Young W. Come out to see it if you’re able – and see what questions and thoughts come up for you.