I am 17, and 71

A story of my alter ego

Several months ago, an enterprising woman named Jen Baxendale asked six women—someone in their 20s, their 30s, their 40s, their 50s, their 60s and their 70s—to make a presentation on their alter egos, the hidden and perhaps not-so-hidden selves who influenced their lives. The unveiling of these alter egos took place in front of a packed audience last month, and the event has resonated with me ever since—especially the memory of the grown men weeping at the end of my talk.

Here's my presentation:

At 71, I have come to accept that I have a public persona: as the bestselling author of Drink, as the woman who bares her soul on drinking in a TEDx Talk (1.5 million views), as the former VP of McGill, as a psychotherapist, an award-winning journalist, recipient of many public awards. My resume is long—and maybe it should be: I’m long in the tooth.

My granddaughter Frances —going on three—will ask:“What are these lines on your cheek, Nanna?” "Those are my love lines," I tell her.

At 71, I have significant love lines.

Author Ann Dowsett Johnston

But at heart? I'm just a teenager. Eternally 17, a child of the Sixties, I’m still wearing my  rose-lensed aviator glasses and a matching tie-dyed shirt. Or in my heart I am—a lover of Joni Mitchell and Leonard Cohen, bisexual and eternally seeking.

Yes, I am 71, and 17. I am the girl who had hand painted cards back in the early 70s, who thought she could make her living sewing three-dimensional quilts for children.

I am also the girl who gave her parents their own inscribed copy of Everything You Wanted to Know About Sex, But Were Afraid to Ask when it became apparent there was no action in their marriage.

I am the girl who wrote President Nixon after the My Lai massacre, who dyed herself green to meet Todd Rundgren on Halloween, and who turned down a chance to sleep with the great banjo artist John Hartford. All these years later, he’s still gentle on my mind. 

I am shaped by the Sixties, and I always will be. No surprise.

A younger Ann

 I am also the one who, when seven months pregnant, told her boss not to point a gun at her belly—and didn’t call the cops.

I am the one who blew the whistle on the pinking of the alcohol market —and did so in a bestselling book, calling the alcohol industry to task.

And I am the person who at 64, watched her son convocate at Smith College as a social worker, and decided to follow in his footsteps, age be damned. In the end, I went in a wheel chair, having smashed my ankle to smithereens stepping off a curb in New York City.

Everything I am today—bestselling writer, psychotherapist—I owe to that feisty, determined teenaged girl, the one who sped down the highway at 150 km an hour in search of a boy. I am that girl, inside.

Truth is: I am long in the tooth. I do have wrinkles. And yes, I have two beloved granddaughters. And here’s the twist: my new best friend is Frances, turning three—a spunky old soul in a toddler’s body.

“Tomorrow I will leave,” she told me recently as she was about to return home to Los Angeles, and you will cry. And she was right. 

Because at 17 going on 72, this teenager knows the runway is shorter than she would like it to be. Last month, I put my beloved home on the market, a nest I have nurtured and loved. Off to a new adventure, I am barrelling down the highway of life, in search of my soul, in search of my future. I am not scared: I know the universe has a better imagination than I do.

And when I get wobbly, I turn to Pablo Neruda’s words—an anthem, really— tattooed on my heart.

YOU START DYING SLOWLY

You start dying slowly

if you do not travel,

if you do not read,

If you do not listen to the sounds of life,

If you do not appreciate yourself.

You start dying slowly

When you kill your self-esteem;

When you do not let others help you.

You start dying slowly

If you become a slave of your habits,

Walking everyday on the same paths…

If you do not change your routine,

If you do not wear different colours

Or you do not speak to those you don’t know.

You start dying slowly

If you avoid to feel passion

And their turbulent emotions;

Those which make your eyes glisten

And your heart beat fast.

You start dying slowly

If you do not change your life when you are not satisfied with your job, or with your love,

If you do not risk what is safe for the uncertain,

If you do not go after a dream,

If you do not allow yourself,

At least once in your lifetime,

To run away from sensible advice

I will be in Vancouver on Saturday, November 23, giving a keynote address at The New Social’s Happier Hour event. Tickets available in Eventbrite (find them here). And there is also a breakfast pre-event. Would love to see you there.

-ADJ