This past weekend, while sharing a hotel room with dear friends, I said aloud something that has been bugging me for at least a year.
Now I understand why people dye their hair and have plastic surgery. The face in the mirror every morning doesn't match the picture of myself in my head.
Or, put more bluntly:
Who the hell is that old hag? And why is she looking at me with knowing eyes?
I can honestly say I earned every wrinkle and grey hair. I wouldn't go back to my 20's for anything, and I mean, not for nothing. I learned a lot in my 30's, hit my stride in my 40's. Now, in my 50's, I acknowledge that I've probably got more years behind me than ahead. Hopefully I'm just now at the half-way point, as it would be a pity I think to waste all the learning - is this wisdom? - by not having as much time to use it as I spent acquiring it.
I have never been particularly vain, so it is uncomfortable to feel a jolt every morning in the bathroom mirror - that's me? Well yes, of course it is. Lift the chin and smile a little, and the reflection is more comfortable. Less... well, less old.
It does not help that my husband, a decade older than I, still has the skin of a baby and gets carded at least once a year. Yes, it's typically at a sporting event and while wearing a baseball cap, but still... He is ageless, inside and out. I married Peter Pan.
So I wonder if I should consider getting my hair dyed... no, I would never spend that much money getting my hair done once a month. What a colossal waste of time - I can barely be bothered to get it cut more than three times a year. It is farce to think I would spend my weekends with coloring bottles and wearing a plastic cape. My mother has dyed her hair since she was 16, when it came in winter-white, I know what is involved. I would not pay for botox or a facelift.
I just wonder why I don't look like I feel.
Maybe it's the high desert - too much sun, not enough humidity. Maybe it's the mileage I've put on this body. Maybe it's the mis-spent youth, the abused metabolism, the years of diet Pepsi and Cheetos (breakfast of champions!) Maybe it's taking for granted the gifts of DNA - good bones, good skin, good weight - for a lot of years.
Choices have consequences. And they are staring me in the face, every day.
Now I understand why people dye their hair and have plastic surgery. The face in the mirror every morning doesn't match the picture of myself in my head.
Or, put more bluntly:
Who the hell is that old hag? And why is she looking at me with knowing eyes?
I can honestly say I earned every wrinkle and grey hair. I wouldn't go back to my 20's for anything, and I mean, not for nothing. I learned a lot in my 30's, hit my stride in my 40's. Now, in my 50's, I acknowledge that I've probably got more years behind me than ahead. Hopefully I'm just now at the half-way point, as it would be a pity I think to waste all the learning - is this wisdom? - by not having as much time to use it as I spent acquiring it.
I have never been particularly vain, so it is uncomfortable to feel a jolt every morning in the bathroom mirror - that's me? Well yes, of course it is. Lift the chin and smile a little, and the reflection is more comfortable. Less... well, less old.
It does not help that my husband, a decade older than I, still has the skin of a baby and gets carded at least once a year. Yes, it's typically at a sporting event and while wearing a baseball cap, but still... He is ageless, inside and out. I married Peter Pan.
So I wonder if I should consider getting my hair dyed... no, I would never spend that much money getting my hair done once a month. What a colossal waste of time - I can barely be bothered to get it cut more than three times a year. It is farce to think I would spend my weekends with coloring bottles and wearing a plastic cape. My mother has dyed her hair since she was 16, when it came in winter-white, I know what is involved. I would not pay for botox or a facelift.
I just wonder why I don't look like I feel.
Maybe it's the high desert - too much sun, not enough humidity. Maybe it's the mileage I've put on this body. Maybe it's the mis-spent youth, the abused metabolism, the years of diet Pepsi and Cheetos (breakfast of champions!) Maybe it's taking for granted the gifts of DNA - good bones, good skin, good weight - for a lot of years.
Choices have consequences. And they are staring me in the face, every day.
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