What if we embraced decay? That the lines etched upon our faces resembled callouses, testaments to the resilience we’ve demonstrated in navigating life. What if our relentless quest to discover our true self, and the anxiety that we might falter, these moments of despair we wore on us like Cub Scout’s badges of honor?
Our insecurities can serve as entry points, bridges consciously constructed towards a realm of genuine security. A space that unconditionally provides solace.
Across from me resides a woman, occupying the neighboring balcony on the second-floor deck. She and I share this elevated perspective. Last night, while I was arranging two towels for drying, my attention was drawn to her presence.
In her late 60s, she boasts short, charcoal-colored hair that gracefully drapes over her ears, forming a crescent-like contour. Though slightly disheveled from her night’s dreams, I’m certain a gentle combing of her fingers could restore its elegance if heading into town was needed.
Twice last night, I found myself gazing at her, pondering whether she too felt an unspoken kinship between us when our gazes met. As I observed her this morning, white coffee cup in hand, mirroring my own, I offered a silent salute. Unaware of my existence, she remained engrossed in studying the frothy white-capped waves of the breezy morning. I can’t help but wonder if my fondness for her, my eagerness to delve into the depths of her identity, would be met with approval, or if she anticipates being overlooked.
Amidst a household teeming with youth, within a society fixated on showcasing their taut bodies and unblemished skin across billboards and magazines, does she grasp the intrinsic value embedded in the radiance of her smile and the warmth she brings to each day?
I earnestly hope she does.
Love, Jaclynn
Going On 40 