I am 44 years old and I might be the only woman I know who doesnt mind getting older. In fact, I relish it.

Dont get me wrong Im not fond of everything that comes with it. My hips hurt. My eyesight is getting worse. Im forced to decide between a glass of wine or a sleepless night. Gray hair, not-so-fine lines and deep wrinkles are certainly humbling. Oh, and my moisturizers are now more expensive than theyve ever been.

None of this is fun. But aging has given me something that I didnt even know I needed: delicious invisibility and freedom from unwanted male attention.

I know that many will take issue with my stance. Society is not kind to women who age, and no one knows that better than women themselves. No one enjoys being ignored when they need something , but the world is not kind to girls or women at any stage, and what Im talking about is something far more sinister than the store clerk who looks right past me.

I remember the first time a man I didnt know put his hands on me. It happened in broad daylight at a popular spot in Brooklyn, New York, where locals go to enjoy the view of the Hudson River and the Verrazano-Narrows Bridge that connects my borough to Staten Island. I was 15 years old and enjoying summer break. I spent my days biking around the city and often stopped at this spot, which Id loved since my parents took me there as a small child.