You’ve discovered what it truly means to be “young at heart.”
The wrinkles around your mouth and the pouchy jowls have no effect on you.
You see the varicose veins in your legs and feet as a sign of victory—having carried children and lifted the loads of life.
You are able to make fun of your bat wings and still wear sleeveless shirts in the summer.
That’s what it means to grow old gracefully; it is a sign of maturity of spirit.
Something we attain while we nurture others and as we, ourselves, learn and grow from life’s experiences.
Yeah, not so much…
My own struggle with getting older has been a quiet one—but a real one. And I don’t get that. As a woman of faith my struggles against aging make me question my faith.
Shouldn’t I be sort of excited to be on the dark side of 50? Isn’t one step closer to eternity a bigger milestone than the number 60 that looms in the not-too-distant future? Nope. Not at all.
So it makes me wonder: What’s up with that?
I went to a Neil Diamond concert a few years ago and all I could think was: What are all these old people doing here?
Don't get me wrong: I am glad to be alive and yet the reality of facing aging is still very real.
And I get that some people who are in their 70s think I’m still a babe in the woods; but the fact is, I can’t even call myself “middle aged” unless I can honestly say I think I will live to be around 112 “ish.” Probably not going to happen regardless of how Suzanne Somers spins aging—but I do like her spunk and am very tempted to order her electric-zapping facial contraption (has anyone tried it?).
In the meantime, I ponder this surprising dilemma more and more and look in the mirror less and less.
I’m trying to find the balance between my faith and digging in my heels against time as it flies by—although I do like the idea of the gusts of time pulling back the skin of my face and giving me a more youthful look.
Maybe it is a win-win after all.
