Okay, so I'm getting older. Aren't we all? I could get all upset about it, deny it, or embrace it. I've discovered several things about myself. I don't think I would want to go back to being 30 again even for a flatter tummy and thicker, browner hair. I wouldn't trade what I've learned about myself, about life, about things that just can't be changed for a model's figure (which I never had and always thought I wanted). Although I hated admitting how much I weigh to the doctor's office when they called for information, I'm done killing myself for the waist I will never have. I've decided to be kinder to myself and less critical. Not that I won't work on myself, and try to do better or healthier, but I'm not going to chide myself for having one cookie, or not making the bed, or for watching a movie when I could be doing something more productive. I've seen too many dear friends and family members leave this world before they understood the great freedom that comes with aging.
It's okay if I look like a sack of potatoes squeezed into a swim suit and swim in front of the younger firmer bodies. They will get old too. It's okay for me to like the music they call nostalgic (theirs will be too someday). It's okay to laugh and see the roadmap of grooves on my face. I earned all those laugh lines in the good times and the bad times.
I've learned that it's easier to stay positive. I don't really care what people think like I used to. It's okay to be wrong or make a mistake. It's okay to ask a name, forgetting isn't fatal. It's okay for me to stay up late reading and sleep later than I meant to. Who cares? It's okay to dance around the house in my underwear (although that's not a picture I would want you to visualize). I'm free. I can allow myself to be happy and to be my own friend.
Aging is really not so bad. It's the cure that is fatal.
3 comments:
I love the way you put this, and I completely agree!
I love the painting. Very realistic!
I forgot to mention the painting. These are the hands of a 75 year old widow who lived next door to us for several years. She was standing on the sidewalk one day leaning against the banister and I asked if I could take a photo of her hands. I had noticed them before. It seemed to me her whole life was written in those hands. The raising of her children, the two deceased husbands, and alone again. I could read good times and hard times all in those hands. I loved painting it. It was a great portrait experience.
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