My Struggle To Embrace Age
I have no time for your age-related mandates
Age is just a number, you might have heard in your life. But it seems like a good idea when you are young. I also thought the same until I celebrated my birthday last month.
Last week I was out to have dinner with one of my friends and the barkeep asked my friend to show her ID but she didn’t ask me. It’s not a big deal for sure but I just wished it might have felt a tad better about my age if she would have asked for my ID too. Okay, you got me -these are the cheap thrills I live for.
Age is not a number, society, people, everyone around you has a checklist or certain expectation on how you should behave and live your life especially when you are crossing a certain age number.
And if you cross that certain number, and you haven’t done the things that most people of your age have done, you are screwed. People will ask you the reason and every time you talk to them. They may as well secretly judge you and are going to make lots of assumptions whether you are inviting it or not.
It makes it more difficult to age gracefully for a commoner like me when Jennifer Lopez looks so amazing at age of 52.
For the life of me, I can’t understand why other people feel entitled to tell us how we should live. It’s a little sanctimonious. Okay, a lot. Now at this stage, I wonder, is there any way I can age gracefully without being shallow in any way.
Honesty I’m ill-prepared for this- being an old person. Every day I wake up with one more reminder that I am heading around the curve toward 40. I don’t necessarily feel old. I surely don’t act like it. Still, I get little reminders of this like horribly rude Post-it notes someone left in my jacket pocket for me to find. “Your glasses are on your head.” “You have no idea why you’re in this room.” “Sure. Eat that. This should be fun.”
Now I have to put reminders even for the smallest things so that I won’t miss them in any case. I’ve started taking inventory. I am here to be a cautionary tale and a warning label all in one. Why?
I no longer have any idea how to dress myself. If you told me you wanted to go shopping, I would panic. I don’t know how to shop. I have no idea what a woman “my age” wears. I think it’s whatever the hell I want but I fear that while my intention is to look like a badass Priyanka Chopra Jonas, I’m going to end up looking like Mrs. Roper from Three’s Company. Caftans are cool, right?
The dresses, cute tops I have collected from all over the places my entire life, don’t suit my age and now I feel it’s too revealing or too sexy for me. I hate it. I used to look cute in them. At this age, there is no way in hell I am going to wear them and give one more chance to people to lecture me on how to act at my age.
I knew I wasn’t the prettiest person in the world even in my teens and certainly not the most feminine or well-kept. Sometimes, I wished I was more inclined to make myself a little fancier. A little more…polished. But what the hell.
Another thing at this age, I hate high heels — I’m not as coordinated as Sarah Jessica Parker. I feel unstable. And worst of all, they fucking hurt. My feet would hurt so badly after just ten minutes, it was hard to keep walking. And after a few hours, my lower back would be a wreck.
I am a woman with acne medication. My face breaks out like a teenage boy. Turns out, I have too much estrogen. Cool. Cool. That’s going to end well. Mind you, I have struggled with acne my entire life and without finding the complete cure. I’m just teetering there like a car dangling off a cliff in an action movie. Flames are eminent.
Hoping one day it will just go away as I age. But hell No! Now it seems I should make them my friends or listing them as my family member doesn’t seem like a bad idea after all.
Adding to this, Yes, my hair is a damn mess every single day. And yes, it could be prettier, but I don’t care.
Sometimes, I wish I was pretty in the way that other women are pretty. I wish it was worth it to me to spend time on my nails and my makeup and my hair. And How about feeling empowered to walk out in the world with an attitude that says, ‘Fuck you, I look great’?”
But life seems so short to me, other pleasures so much more appealing like my writing, reading books, and definitely my walk.
I’m happy being the messy, dirty, feral creature that I am. She’s beautiful in her own way. And best of all, she’s doing what she loves to do, far away from the bathroom mirror.
Now excuse me, I need to buy some flip flops. It’s hot out.
Be Bold
Be Courageous
Be Your Best
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Citation: https://readmedium.com/my-struggle-to-age-gracefully-when-i-really-hate-my-aging-skin-c18fae53d4f9 and https://readmedium.com/things-no-one-told-me-would-happen-when-i-got-older-2d6543b2062c
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