Old age is no place for sissies. Bette Davis’ quote makes more and more sense to me as I approach one of those Big Decade birthdays. Inside I feel young and full of ideas. The calendar reminds me that I have maybe 20-ish years to live! It’s sobering.
It’s inevitable to hit 60, if you’re lucky. So many fortunes have been heaped on me: good health, a loving marriage, a long and satisfying career, and enough $$$ to pay the bills. I am having so much fun – learning, biking, drinking wine, reading, and singing. I don’t want it to end (I’m not alone there, am I?).
I have been a “good-looking” woman by conventional standards for most of my life. How hard do I want to try to hold on to that? I know I look good “for my age,” that tepid back-handed compliment. I still care about hair and make-up and style, obviously. But there’s a lot of letting go that comes with age. And I am learning to let go of physical “beauty”, in the modern Western sense: taut smooth skin, shiny hair, curves in all the “right” places.
I think I’ll be a handsome old woman, with a sparkle in my eyes, and red lipstick. Long curly hair and modern style and a love of rock and roll. But sixty is not the new forty, it’s just not. I am not going to change careers, have kids, become a ballerina, or marry a millionaire. I might join the Peace Corps though.
|No makeup except lips, unruly hair, a GAP tee and white jeans. Still juicy, and Not Dead Yet.|
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