My oversized black T-shirt with a skull made up of white kittens and cats received five compliments today—the most of any work outfit I’ve worn. Not to worry, I dressed it up with heels and a cardigan.
Don’t you love it when you head toward something you need only to realize you forgot what you’re getting? I took several hurried steps downstairs, proud of my speed, then abruptly stopped. What am I doing? I thought. The cup still empty on my nightstand needed filling, and my quick pace downstairs to fill it with ice water needed only one thing—that cup.
I want a hot dog. But there isn’t one in sight.
Wanting to see my hair objectively, I took a photo of myself. While viewing it, I was drawn to the wrinkles around my eyes, at the bridge of my nose, and across the shiny part of my forehead. I didn’t recognize the person I looked at. When did that happen, I wondered.
In my mid-twenties, while shaving my upper thigh, I saw a red, squiggly vein line. It made me panic—this physical change signifying I was no longer young.
In this time when Botox is normal for seventysomethings to twentysomethings, I find myself in conflict: Do I embrace the age spots and saggy skin or pay the big bucks for peels, lightening, and fillers?
How about I go with the flow for now, take photos, and look at them mindfully and lovingly, hoping that I’ll gain acceptance by doing so?
I like that
Take care. Love, Jaclynn
Going On 40 