The other night as I sat here writing, I looked down at my hands and noticed that they've suddenly aged. I held them up and really looked at them, recognizing how much they look like my mother's hands. I've also noticed lately that my hair isn't as thick as it used to be and that I have two pads of extra skin on my jawline, between my chin and the curve that leads up to the ear. My cheeks aren't as plump and my eyes seriously need to have some skin removed; the lids have gotten far too heavy, which makes them feel tired all of the time. I'm not into cosmetic surgery, but if I could, I'd have my jaw and eyes done a little--not much though--just enough to get rid of the tired look I've acquired.I don't look in the mirror much, not because I dread what I might see, but because I'm just not one of those people who spend a lot of time there. I gave up the glam and the makeup nearly 20 years ago--a miraculous feat considering I used to be one of those who wouldn't even go to the mailbox unless I was perfectly turned out. Nowadays, if it's a really special occasion, I use a couple of passes with a mineral powder, a little eyebrow pencil, and I call it a done deal.
The plus for me is that, regardless of having grown up in southern California during the surfing craze of the Sixties, I never spent much time trying to tan. I'm a natural redhead and I'm no fool. Because of this, my skin is in great shape. Plus, I've always been petite; I still have a great butt, and outside of a few extra pounds gained during the Hashimoto's debacle, my body hasn't changed all that much. I'm not gloating though, because I've never exercised or dieted--I'm far too lazy for that. This is genetics pure and simple: neither of my parents looked their ages as they grew older either.
Maybe it's because I've always appeared 10 years younger than my actual age--and have a lot of youthful energy--but aging hasn't been that big a deal to me. Even now, people mistake me for being in my 40s instead of nearly 60; it wasn't until I was nearly 35 when liquor store clerks and bouncers quit carding me. I've always wondered how long I will be able to milk this. Now I'm seeing very real signs that I'm about to enter the December of my life. Well, maybe the November. And you know what? After I passed 55 it was no big deal. Sure, I'm considering my mortality a bit more, but because I tend to be a spiritual sort, I'm able to look at it without dread or fear. I think of all the people whom I admire who have made it through the veil and I know that I'll make it too. I'm even kind of excited to find out what the fuss is all about; it's the ultimate adventure, don't you think? And if there's nothing, I won't know, and all the time spent in angst would have been for nothing.
At this time of year especially, I see my life reflected in nature. Everything falls, everything fades, everything lets go. Fortunately, I have a personal faith that gives me assurance that we, being part of nature and not separate from it, are no different than the oak tree out in the yard: we grow lush, we bear fruit, we fade, we go dormant, and it starts over again, over and over, season after season as the wheel turns ever on.
So what are wrinkles and sags but the marking of our adventures in the travel diary of our journey? Write on!
18 comments:
Great post... it gave me goosebumps. I love how you write - to me you are wicked cool!
Aw...
So beautifully written, Steph. It put me in tears.
I look at my sags and wrinkles and figure they're just the footprints on my trail of life. Proof that I've been living. My hands are in the shape they are from rock climbing all those years back. My eyes are crinkled at the sides from being in the sun, hiking, canoeing and kayaking.
I shake my head at how desperate some people are to erase every single wrinkle, sag, grey hair, every little sign of ageing. They seem so terrified. But then, considering how we treat the elderly, I guess their fear isn't so unfounded.
Walking around town, I am used to it by now, but the first few months here I was so touched every time I saw a truly elderly person, someone who was beyond 80 years of age, moving about, going grocery shopping, visiting a coffeehouse. This was so new to me. Where I moved about in DC I have no memory of seeing the not so very young out and about. It was as if above a certain age you ought to move to Florida.
I see you as a September wanderer, not later. :-)
Beautiful post, Steph and reflects much of what I've come to believe lately.
Being nearly 10 years behind you on this journey, I'm not in quite the same place as you...yet. I look at my hands and I see age spots popping out and blue veins showing through thinning skin and I still find it a bit disconcerting. I'm still in the peri-menopausal phase, and when I look into the mirror I see what signs of youth that are left, rapidly fading away. But I'm so thankful that I have you and that you love me despite the fact that my youth is fading. There is a warmth and comfort in knowing that it matters not what is on the outside and that true love transcends the flesh. I realize when I look upon you that I am truly blessed.
I think you're still in late September or early October: the leaves aren't quite so green as before, but they're not accumulating under your trunk either.
At 56(ish), I'm a little jowlier and a little greyer, and I've learned to hate the word "glucose," but I still think my personal winter is a long way off.
absolutely right/write on!! Counting down to the big 4-0 on this end. Still a bummer when I'm arriving at work for the night shift and some goober looks at me a says...........Long day...or Bet you're glad to be getting off???? THE HORROR!!!!!!
I came via Hillary. I often look at my hands and wonder whose they are? When did my skin get so thin and why do I have all these brown spots. Yep, well on my way down that road.
Here via Hilary at The Smitten Image. I love the way you write! Although I am a decade younger, my body is making me feel more November than October. That said, I am a great appreciator of seasons and the wisdom gained during each of them. The age spots on my hands fascinate me and when I see smile lines and laugh lines, I see a life well lived.
Hi, I'm here via Hilary. Your post is very insightful. I think a lot about aging too. My hands look old, but I look in the mirror and I think I have aged fairly well. My neck looks younger than most people my age, and I think I look a little younger than my 45 years of age.
I love your writing.
Thank you all for coming over from Hilary's blog. Your comments mean a lot!
Very well written post, and congrats on POTW.
As for me, I also don't spend a lot of time staring at myself in the mirror, but in my mind I don't think I've aged a day since high school.
Then I go to the barber shop... and the hair that falls from the clippers onto the apron in front of me is salt-and-pepper dark mixed with gray. My first reaction is, "Ew! The barber didn't clean the clippers after the last old geezer got a haircut!" Then I realize and say to myself, "Self, that's YOUR hair."
Oh.
Then my mom scanned and posted a picture on facebook of me when I was a teenager. I've seen other such pictures and had friends comment on how I looked like a baby in the picture. I didn't really see it until this one picture. In this particular picture, you can see the back of one of my hands. It's smooth. There aren't any blemishes or scars or wrinkles. If you had asked me before viewing that picture, then I would have said my hands look today the same as they did back in high school. I haven't changed gosh darnit!!! Comparing the hands typing on my keyboard with the hand that was visible in that picture really drove the point home though.
Sorry, I'm rambling. I suppose I should have composed this as a blog post of my own in response. In any case, congrats on POTW. :-)
Great post. Love the way you write. And I relate to much of what you have written. I came over from Hillary's mention of you in her POTW post...Congrats!
Congrats on POTW mention. And you know, it's your attitude that counts when it comes to ageing. You are great!
Thanks! 8^)
It is said that we have the face we deserve by aged 40, I prefer to say that it is the face we've earned.
Lovely post, over here from Hilary's POTW
Lovely, just lovely. Almost poetic.
I've never been as lucky as you are, genetically speaking - I come from sturdy, big-boned-covered-with-lots-of-fat stock - so I've always dieted. The same body I had in my twenties? No, I'm actually a few pounds lighter, but vital parts are no longer in their proper places; rather, they tend to gravitate toward the earth.
I had that aging moment when I was riding in the car one day. I glanced at the sideview mirror, and my mother glanced back at me. And the hands - oh yeah, been there, done that: the skin resembles chicken skin a bit on mine.
Visiting from the Smitten Image. Congrats on your award!
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