Growing Old Gracelessly
Or obstinately. Or vengefully. Whatever.
I’m 46 and while I know it’s not the same 46 my mom faced 30 years ago, I still find myself completely unwilling to surrender to time. The problem is, there’s simply no road map for aging (or refusing to age) in modern times. Magazines write the same articles targeted to me every month (Spring Fashions for Every Age! Are Lasers Replacing Facelifts? Ten Best Foods to Fend Off Osteoporosis! Can Low Carb Diets Prevent Middle Age Belly Fat?) I buy them all, ignore my husband’s eye-rolling and read them all like they were the New Testament. I tear out pages, circle things I think I can use (and afford) and keep them by my computer. I even take tear outs to Sephora and use them like a damn grocery list. And seriously, I look and feel fine. Not great, but good for my age. But here’s my thing: it’s just not good enough … and I’m holding on by my gel-covered fingernails here.
Age is coming for me (it’s already got little parts of me… reading glasses, osteopenia, a big butt). I know it’s gunning for me and it’s gonna win. But since I research it, talk about it, worry about it and – let’s call a spade a spade – obsess over it, I’m going to blog about it. If I learn anything, I’ll say so. If I take the plunge on something new-fangled that fills me with hope, I’ll tell about it. If it fails, I’ll whine and complain. If something works, I’ll post pictures, I swear.
Wish me luck. I’m not going down without a fight. For god’s sake, I still wear mini-skirts and stay up all night dancing to trance music! (Is that wrong? I don’t know! I’m going to go check and see what Tim Gunn thinks …)