Getting Old
Getting old isn't something I mind, on a macro level. On a micro level, however, I'm a little peeved at the fact that I just looked in the mirror and had too many gray hairs to pluck. I'm also annoyed that no matter how many kinds of lotion I use I still look a little bit like I sat next to a smoker for most of the afternoon. My knee caps sank yesterday too. I recall as a kid looking at my aunts legs and thinking I'd never let my legs look that old, until this morning when I looked in the mirror and *BAM* they looked that old. Finally, I smiled at myself in an attempt to use positive motivational techniques I learned from a four year old on youtube.com then realized that when I stopped smiling the wrinkles on the corners of my eyes didn't go away.
So enough of that. Apparently I do give a stink about getting old on a micro level. But from a broader perspective getting older has it's advantages...people don't question my experience as much (perhaps with the exception of those who think I'm younger, God Bless 'em!). I am also less concerned about what the meaning of life is. Granted I still don't have the answer to that grand question but find it generally less relevant as long as I'm doing something with my time. I'm as bothered as ever by grand socio-political absurdities but generally speaking realize I can make a difference on my block and among my family and friends and am, at least for today, content with that. And generally speaking, I don't mind the wrinkles. I think they say something about me because they arch up and not down.
Perhaps the most poignant part about getting older is that I notice that there is something much more finite about me than I ever payed attention to before. That I won't always have really tight elastic-y skin seems drastically irrelevant when I put it in the context of hoping I can be a decent mom and a borderline rational wife or even more, that I can leave a story worth telling...even if it needs some strategically placed bravado here and there. Just to keep it interesting.
So enough of that. Apparently I do give a stink about getting old on a micro level. But from a broader perspective getting older has it's advantages...people don't question my experience as much (perhaps with the exception of those who think I'm younger, God Bless 'em!). I am also less concerned about what the meaning of life is. Granted I still don't have the answer to that grand question but find it generally less relevant as long as I'm doing something with my time. I'm as bothered as ever by grand socio-political absurdities but generally speaking realize I can make a difference on my block and among my family and friends and am, at least for today, content with that. And generally speaking, I don't mind the wrinkles. I think they say something about me because they arch up and not down.
Perhaps the most poignant part about getting older is that I notice that there is something much more finite about me than I ever payed attention to before. That I won't always have really tight elastic-y skin seems drastically irrelevant when I put it in the context of hoping I can be a decent mom and a borderline rational wife or even more, that I can leave a story worth telling...even if it needs some strategically placed bravado here and there. Just to keep it interesting.
You are like a fine red wine. You have a rosy glow when the light shines through you. Your presence complements a meal. Being rudely jostled risks making you corked. Cooking with you had been known to result in tipsiness. When taken into the backcountry, the longer you ferment, the richer your bouquet (*snicker*). But most importantly, like fine wine, you've only grown more wonderful with age.
ReplyDeleteI have a couple guesses as to who you are but think I'd prefer to leave this anonymous...ha! I love it. Especially that I'm fermenting...awesome!
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