There is no denying it. I’m getting way older than my younger self ever imagined. I remember when we were kids and doing the math: How old would we all be in the year 2000? Wow! What about 2015? OMG. Ancient! I couldn’t fathom what anything beyond 25 would look like and if I did, I’m not sure what that would mean.
Now, this isn’t to say my life has been spiraling down ever since I graduated university, but, let’s just say, on paper, I look bad – real bad. However, to minimalists and renegades I’m doing alright. All this to say, I understand why we can’t see into the future, it’s to protect us from trying desperately to avoid hurt and sorrow and making mistakes – but we will anyways.
The problem is I don’t worry about the future. If I think about it then I feel like, yeah, I should be worried. Generally though, I stopped worrying somewhere in my twenties. I’m not sure why or how. You’re right, that’s not a good answer, but I think I just became a bigger person of faith. I stopped losing sleep over my credit card bill and started to believe that everything would be alright.
This is not to say that I entered a state of heavy denial. I simply think that as you get older you realize how things are never what you expected and you can’t prepare for what you can’t expect. You start to let go of the imaginary reins a little and take in the really lovely moments with great intensity. And as a women (because I don’t know how it is for men), you start to like the way you look and have this confidence that you wished you had when you thought you were fat and imperfect and all that other bullshit.
Getting older, aging, rocking the ‘ol rocking chair is actually scary and wonderful. Right now, I feel quite attached to being alive. When you are younger, you don’t think about it too much because you are stupid and you don’t realize what you got. But now? I’m flinching at the sun, entertaining dark thoughts and hoping I get to be here long enough to live out my life’s purpose.
I understand the sentiment, “youth is wasted on the young” because when you are young you don’t realize how beautiful you naturally are. Your skin will never look better. Trust me. When you start getting those wrinkles, you are like OH, SHIT. I’ve got wrinkles and stretch marks above my knees, people. My knees. *sob* I’ve never been fat or gained/loss a great deal of weight so WHAT THE FRACK? (points if you know where I got that from)
I also understand why women get all botoxed up. They probably freaked out. It’s weird to look at your face and see it change. I know that people who knew me when I was much younger, look at me and think, “She’s getting older. It’s showing.” Family is GREAT for that. But I can’t help it, really and I’m learning to lean into this inevitably because I don’t have a choice and it sounds better if I say these kinds of things.
Look, I refuse to dye my hair. Yes, I’m getting that white streak on my right side, like a skunk, but I don’t want to have to deal with the upkeep like my grandma, bless her heart, who has magically had jet black hair for my entire life. I don’t want to put my birthday on FB anymore! I don’t want to change my damn skin care regime in the false hopes that the RoC crème will fill in those crinkles and lines! GAH!
However, I have realized the importance of health. I’m not a health nutter, but I do alright. I’ve never been into drinking or hard drugs, yoyo dieting, but if I get hit by a Mack truck, I realize my health won’t matter. Sorry, there I go again, entertaining dark thoughts.
Okay, the bright side of aging. I stopped worrying about what other women think of me and it’s awesome. I know what I need. I know what I want and I know how to get it done and if I need to elaborate, I’m sorry, I won’t. I’ve finally accepted the way I look and I mean this in the best way possible. Big deal for us ladies, I don’t know why, but it is.
I’ve learned to lose some friends. I’m not afraid of my voice like I used to be and I could go on, but I don’t want you to think you’ve accidently picked up a Women’s Health magazine…(too late). The scary bits include, “Oh, God, I’m going to die!” and “When will the dark horse come get me like in that Young Guns movie?”
[disclaimer: I am no where near 32]