When I was young, I was very stupid and did not realize the following:
That I was wrinkle-free, fairly fit and probably the smallest size I would ever be. Instead I mourned my lack of a tiny waist, wished my hair was jet black and lamented the fact that my name wasn’t Maria (ridiculous, but true).
Now, at 50, I see the new lines appearing on my face, sometimes it seems as though it is a daily occurrence. I watch the race between my chest and my stomach, as they compete to see which can protrude the furthest, and sadly see my chest lose as gravity takes its toll. I walk down the street and I am invisible, even the tacky street guys don’t notice me. Occasionally, I catch my reflection in a shop window, and almost gasp aloud as I don’t recognize myself anymore.
Looking at photographs with friends, it has become a quest to see in which photo do you look the least old & wrinkled? Which image of you has the lesser chin count? Head shots are the safest, but also the ones that stamp you with a ‘past-sell-by’date.
Sometimes, I understand the whole Botox deal – I stand in front of the mirror and lift parts of my face towards my ears to see what I would look like ironed. Wow, what a difference it makes.
But then I get all pissy, I get mad at myself for buying into the fountain of youth crap, and I remind myself that I earned all of these lines, that I should have a sense of pride in the woman I have become, grey hair, wrinkles, chins and all. I had that time in my life when I walked into a room and got noticed (for the right reasons), so maybe it is time for others to have a turn, and my turn to take a place in the back row. This morning I came to work with no make-up on. Partly because I wanted to leave early as I don’t like my husband today, and partly because I felt lazy. The wonderful thing was that no one noticed at all. Because there was nothing interesting about me, I could saunter in without even a raised eyebrow.
I think perhaps I might just get to like being invisible! let the gravity be with you….. Jude