I rattle on and on about positive thoughts, positive thinking, being grateful, and all that good stuff and smugly think that I don’t fail to do those things. Ha! That’s funny. I caught myself this morning realizing that I am age-conscious and not happy about my aging body. I look in the mirror and see that everything has gone South (dipping-almost-below-the-equator-South). I see rivers and valleys etched upon my face and if I dare take a closer look at my skin I see pits and scales and rolls. Scales are okay for fish and rolls are a nice compliment to a dinner but not on my body please.
A closer look at the face and eye lids are beginning to droop. A glance in the mirror at my entire body shows that while my body has thinned more making my bathroom scales seem less frightening, my hair has been busy loosing numbers and thickness as well . How in the world can I feel so young inside and yet find that I am living in my grandmother’s body? Granted my body looks a whole lot younger and attractive than a grandmother used to look back in her day. Still I cannot help but yearn for that firmer, softer-skinned, lovely girl I once was.
I would consider a face lift but then I have an aversion to pain and bruising, not to mention to the cutting and stitching of skin. Besides, that would not be my real face would it? I can seek to understand why I am so bothered by looking like the aging woman I am. Perhaps it would be better for me to just look at the love shining through me, the smile on my face, and the fact that I am still alive and doing pretty well for an “old” lady.
Winking at myself in the mirror I can say, “You are one hot Grandma!” Hugging my body, I say thank you for continuing to get me from point “A” to point “B”. I’m loving this body.