In just a few weeks I will round the bend away from 30 (good bye dear friend) and begin the journey to 40 (et tu, Brute?). Oh God.
In my head it's just a number. No big deal. But there are the wrinkles, and the creaking joints, and the practically colored minivan. It's really happening.
Not that I particularly mind getting old. The alternative of ceasing to exist is simply not an option... what with a daily to-do list a mile long. It's just the decision of how to go about this aging thing.
Do I embrace it or fight it like a ninja assassin?
It's been a constant internal struggle since the wee hours of my 30th birthday that I spent alone on the kitchen floor sobbing with a bottle of wine (and no glass.)
Part of me says "Bring on the laugh lines, the age spots, the failing eyesight! I can make those things look sexy!"
And then the other part of me reminds myself that I have trouble pulling off sexy without all those things. Seriously, have you seen me in heels?
I would love to think that I will be content with my aging body because my mind and spirit are becoming richer and I am truly more at peace with who I am than I ever was at 20. If you ask me, I will probably tell you I am happy and that aging isn't bothering me.
But if we see each other at Target perusing the "anti wrinkle" cream isle, it will be our little secret, right?
2 comments:
No kidding. Solace: supposedly older people are happier. Supposedly. I can't need anti aging cream if I still need acne fighting products, right? :)
Love it! :)
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