Happy Birthday to me! What is “age”? “An individual’s development measured in terms of the years requisite for like development of an average individual.” Who put Miriam Webster in charge of defining my life anyway? I never considered myself as “average”.
So here I am, facing the day, looking in the mirror, and seeing those signs of aging (as compared to the average individual). Old age spots, fine lines and wrinkles, dry skin, sagging jaw line, drooping eyelids, thinning hairline, etc. etc. etc. So tell me – is there an App for that, a magic wand, the fountain of youth, or at least a potent elixir to stop all this nonsense? Didn’t think so. I guess I am forced to “age” gracefully.
Guess again. I am not going down without a fight. There are too many options to explore before I wave the white flag and call “uncle”. Yoga, Pilates, P90X, Personal Trainers, Mary Kay, and Botox, for pete’s sake. No one wants to look their age. When I lay me down to sleep in that final resting place, the big pine box, I WANT people to say, “Heck, she looks good!”
Forget AARP, senior citizen discounts, and the healthy dishes on the menu! Why do I have to be rewarded for making it over the hill, and applauded for still kickin’?
Age; aged; average age; young age; old age; aging; age-old; ages ago. No matter how you look at it, age is at the mercy of time. We cannot control time, but we can control age, at least how we view it. For me, my Birthday is not a reflection of age. It doesn’t matter how many candles I blow out or what image appears in that mirror. It’s what I believe I see, a woman who is not afraid to be more than average. If anyone doesn’t like it, then let them eat cake!