A friend of mine recently did me she had discovered that she now, quite suddenly, had crepey skin. She said, "I feel like I have to wear long sleeves now." I was outraged on her behalf. I told her that some of my very favorite people when I was a kid had crêpey skin. I told her to embrace it, and, having known her for a long time, teased her mercilessly. I felt very "old soul" in my response because it was so very clear that crêpey skin matters not at all. I thought looking at it from another angle than despair over aging was called for.
But I actually sympathize entirely. It is very difficult for me to accept any changes in my own body, be they cosmetic or functional. I heard that self image for women gets stuck somewhere around age 29. This may or may not be true. Years ago I told another friend the theory and this friend immediately retorted that she was a quite contented 50 year old, thank you very much. I felt very put in my place even though I had only been reporting on something I had read.
So, I tried being a contented 50 year old, and succeeded, more or less. But the regular incursions of physical issues, none terribly serious, and none permanently debilitating, does remind me that I don't actually accept this fact. It seems wrong and alien for my body to be any different, any less limber, any less energetic, any heavier, any less able than it was ... well, at age 29. That is indeed the benchmark. I am surprised sometimes when I see a photograph of myself or look in the mirror.
I've seen a lot of commercials over the past year for what seem to be magical skin care potions, alchemical concoctions that make your skin moist and wrinkle free and utterly beautiful. Every time I see one of these advertisements, I am filled with longing. Think of it. You just rub the stuff on and you look like an angel. I must have expressed my feelings because Joe brought home a small jar of magical ointment and a friend gave me another one. I was thrilled and delighted, even though I have yet to put any on (I've had them since last fall now). It seems that owning a couple jars is all I really wanted.
Have only recently been following you (sounds a little creepy) but I very much enjoy your narratives and photos. Could relate all too well to this one. A friend commented that she likes my grey hair; had to admit that I do not see grey hair when I look in the mirror and yet, if I see a photo of myself, I’m shocked to see grey hair. :)
Terrific photo with a wonderful diagonal composition.
A relatable narrative. I find it interesting that women seem to talk about aging and its vagaries more openly than they did in my mother's generation but am willing to admit that it may seem that way because I didn't engage in those conversations when I was younger! I have to confess I have had the same experience as @amyk concerning my hair too!
A relatable narrative. I find it interesting that women seem to talk about aging and its vagaries more openly than they did in my mother's generation but am willing to admit that it may seem that way because I didn't engage in those conversations when I was younger! I have to confess I have had the same experience as @amyk concerning my hair too!