Something came over me when Madonna’s name was announced last night during the Super Bowl. It took me by surprise. I became hyper focused on watching her, riveted to my bar stool in a Hoboken restaurant/bar.
As a relatively new member of the ’50’ club, I realized I was heavily invested in her performance as a fellow 50-something woman. It was weird. I’ve never been that attuned to her age before. I was sending her good vibes because I felt like she represented me.
Now, I can’t say it’s the first time I’ve related to Madonna. I love her music, dig her ability to express freely and, as one who was also raised Catholic, the rebel in me always loved that she was saying what I didn’t have the courage to say until much later in life.
I got what I wanted from her last night — entertainment, inspiration and a touch of nostalgia. The Madonna songs on my iPod sounded fresh during my workout this morning.
I suppose the age identification was about a subconscious feeling that I’ve entered this new place where so much is possible, ambition is soaring and I keep wanting to see others who are on that track, too. After the game, when I saw Huffington Post Tweets about Madonna’s minor stumble as the headline, I defensively fired back as if it was me, imagining some young twit editor dwelling on one of the most human things about the performance.
When I first saw that stadium setup unfold before Madonna as she sang, my stomach dropped. What is she thinking wearing those hot (but high) boots on bleachers? I wouldn’t have agreed to that in a million years, such would have been my fear of falling. But she took it on, moved past the stumble into grace, not fazed by the blip, not letting down her audience an ounce. She knew the material. She kept going. And she seemed to be enjoying it.
Prior to the game I heard the announcers quote her as saying she had never been more nervous than she was for that event. Isn’t it just the best when we take on something that turns our stomach inside out?
Like I said, I got everything I wanted. And more.