I am enthralled with aging. I wonder if this is the first time in history that women stand around at a party and so enthusiastically talk about the agony and ecstasy of it all. This actually just happened last Saturday night at a party with about seven of us all in a highly animated circle – each one gingerly pinching our sagging eyelids to see who wins “most eligible for insurance coverage due to impairment of eyesight”. We laughed hysterically. It’s not unlike that great moment with Meryl Streep in What’s Complicated when she exposes her one droopy eyelid!
I don’t remember my mother or her friends ever talking about aging. It was just the natural course of events. No one spoke about longevity, corrective surgery, raw food, HGH injections or what it would be like to live until 100. Nature seemed to simply take its course.
There is a natural evolution to life that we humans seem to keep wanting to mess with, as though we have some all-knowing wisdom only to often end up paying a big price for our meddling. For me, there seems to be a correlation between the more wrinkles I have and the more authentic I feel. And more womanly. There is undoubtedly something deep inside that is calling to be heard, that has a new voice. Perhaps too, there is a new way to listen.