Yesterday’s post got me thinking about my thinking on youth, and about how preoccupied I am with my own.
I am afraid that one morning I’m going to wake up and have lines covering my whole face.
I don’t know that I’m going to see it gradually, because I see myself every day.
I want to believe it’s not going to matter when it happens. I’ve seen some fantastic pictures of older women. Why are the photos fantastic? Not because they’re wildly filtered, airbrushed, or photoshopped. Not because they’re taken from precisely the right angle. But because they’re taken of confident, truly happy women.
I love when I see some wrinkles on people that they aren’t trying to hide. I love when I just see pure laughter, even if that means lines show hard in a huge smile. I hope that when I’m older I’ll be able to be that comfortable with how I look. (I already worry about lines and things now, so we can only hope when I’m older I get better).
For now I get to enjoy youth. I think sometimes people are nice to me because I’m young. I think a number of people have been extra helpful to me, willing to see more potential in me, because I’m young – since technically I’m thought of as the future or something like that.
I’ve never been older than how old I am in this very moment. Maybe things won’t change. I don’t know first hand what it’s like to be older. But I do know what it’s like to be young, and overall it’s fantastic.
(Though, caveat: While people are generally especially helpful and kind to you while you’re young, it’s not all sunshine and roses. There are people who think you’re too young to make decisions. Some think that young equals stupid and/or immature. So, while it’s usually a plus, I’ll admit being young can be a minus sometimes… Generally though, it’s great.)
I often have people say, “You look just like you did in high school!”
That’s very sweet. Sometimes I like to think “of course they’re right!”
But look at the evidence.
Picture A is from 5(!) years ago (fall of 2008) (which is actually after high school for those of you keeping track at home, but it’s close enough). I think I was making a video message for a friend, dancing around, acting silly in that photo.
Picture B is from earlier this year after my 51st half marathon.
I got older, y’all. It happened. Time passes. That’s how time works!
I feel like I can see in the photographic evidence that I’ve gotten older in the last 5 years. Not so much crazy older. Not the biggest difference in the universe, but older nonetheless.
As much as I’d love to feel joy only when people compliment me on the important things that I control – for being a good problem solver, or a hard worker (or the best one – a talented musician/writer) – I don’t.
I’ll admit it. I also feel joy when they say, “You look just like you did in high school!”
Sometimes I worry that I must be approaching the age where no one says that anymore. I feel like that’s gonna be a sad day, and I’m never gonna be ready for it. Granted, I’ve been worrying about that for half a decade now. I need to stop worrying about it, lest I get wrinkles over it!
Maybe, just maybe, I’ll be Julia Louis-Dreyfus or Jim Parsons. People will think I’m young forever. A girl can hope, right?
(We’ll continue with more thoughts on aging and beauty throughout this week.)