I’ve been in a funk lately, I’m sure it was brought on by stress and running around like a chicken with my head cut off…usually when I get in this mode, all I want to do is write. I can escape to another place and everything spinning around me seems to melt away or at least throttle back to a slow-motion rotation. This time however, all the words have been there, but I haven’t been able to think straight enough to form the sentences. When this happens, I usually pray that God will intervene, send me focus and inspiration.
This time, he decided to send me inspiration in the form of a simple, harmless sneeze….
It happened last week, a sneeze that came out of nowhere and I didn’t have time to cross my legs. I’m sure you know what happened next….
What the hell!?! When did this become an issue?!? When did sneezing become a gamble? I’ll tell you when…
Along about the same time that an underwire bra stopped being used as a confidence booster and instead became a necessity in life. The girls made the decision that they are just as tired as I am and gave into gravity.
The same time that I stopped looking at pants that button, and I embraced the magnetic force that pulled me towards leggings and dresses…they put up virtually little to no resistance when slipping them on. Side note: Leggings can reach their stretching capacity when bending over to light a campfire, speaking from experience, they too can blow out just like the small flame that you get after screwing with a bunch of logs and some dryer lint for a half hour. I’m officially returning my Girl Scout badges.
The same time that I realized that it IS possible to have more acne as a thirty-eight something than as a teenager. It’s really sad when a Proactive commercial comes on and your eight-year-old lovingly says, “Mommy, maybe that would work for you.” Thanks kid, thanks.
The same time that I discovered that my once flat stomach and abs of flexible sheet metal (I never mastered the abs of steel), now resemble something like a campfire smore with the marshmallow oozing out the sides of the graham cracker.
The same time that I discovered that even after sitting for twenty minutes wearing a moisturizing mask that made me look like Michael Myers, I could not reverse the two sets of deep wrinkles that were now strategically placed on my face. The first set, right between my eyes, from over usage of the WTF!?! face (translation: What’s this for?) and the second set that frame my mouth like a perfect set of parentheses, from smiling. At least I know there is a balance in my facial and thought patterns because the lines are both equal in depth and prominence.
The same time that I discovered that red hair DOES NOT turn pink as you age, which is what I had always believed…nope it’s white…and I’ve found five in the last month. As I picked at the strands in the mirror like an obsessed monkey, saying to myself, “What’s this for?”
The same time that I discovered that if I don’t take Aleve before bed, I’ll basically be sleepily crawling to the bathroom in the morning because my bones are beginning to have an issue rising and shining.
The same time that I discovered that every mirror in my house is lying to me. Lying, and there is pretty much nothing I despise more than a liar.
So, I have decided, I could remove every mirror in my house, live on greens and protein drinks, have the girls tacked up to my shoulders, go shopping for bigger pants, invest in some Botox, buy some Depends, try to locate hair dye that matches my God given color, and exercise three times a day for the rest of eternity….
Or I could grab a hold of the twenty something that lives inside of me and keep on loving her. Outward, physical aging is inevitable. No creams, injections, or concoction of plant based items thrown in a blender that resemble an overloaded baby diaper once prepared, are going to reverse the fact that we all have to grow old. We don’t get to keep everything on the outside, as it was when we were in our prime, looking hotter than a campfire we can’t even get to start these days.
But on the inside…oh, the inside. Our spirit can be forever young, we can love and nurture her, tell her she’s 28 for so long that she forgets how old she really is. We can still be adventurous, happy, full of life, full of love, full of youth…if we focus on her. We can’t control gravity, or physical aging…but we can always believe that we are twenty-eight. And for that, I am thankful.
Today, love and embrace who you are on the inside. Be proud of how all those wrinkles and those accidental pee pants got you to where you are today…beautiful, just beautiful.