I can’t sleep. Part of it is the snoring that was coming from beside me, and part of it was the coughing coming from the other room, and part of it was good old fashioned insomnia. I tried to entertain myself with fantasies of being on the X Factor. I can usually tell myself stories to sleep–generally, I would zonk out halfway through my audition fantasy, but tonight I made it all the way up to my Top 3 song choice before giving up and getting out of bed. By the way, my Top 3 consisted of a really hot girl who sang like Whitney Houston, and a cutie patootie boy band. I was eliminated in that round, but not before Simon Cowell said I was his favorite contestant ever, and had a hissy fit that I’d been voted out.
So, I looked down tonight, after I’d gotten into my pajamas, and I thought, “Good lord! My boobs used to be a lot higher! When did they fall down there?!” You would think that having read and/or listened to so many women talk about the changes time and gravity bring, I would have internalized some expectation of it. Not so. Time and Gravity continue to be startling shocks to my system. I know where things were. I know where I think things should still be. Joke’s on me. They ain’t there no more.
Lately, I am coming to realize I need reading glasses, too. My optometrist has been telling me this was coming. The past few eye exams, the doctor has said something like, “After 40, vision changes rapidly, and you may find yourself needing reading glasses.” I guess I thought I was special, or impervious, but the other day a client loaned me her readers “just to see” and it was like– Well, it was like I need reading glasses. I’ll have to find a chic pair so that my transformation into Little Old Lady isn’t quite so sudden.
I’m not complaining about aging. I am enjoying my age. I wouldn’t turn back time at all. I like where I am, who I am, and who I have around me. The little niggling changes are all worth the exchange. I don’t like the wrinkles, but I really don’t mind the wrinkles either. Some of the people I love most in the world have a whole lot of them, and it doesn’t change how I feel for them one bit. The people who love me feel the same way.
Isn’t that lucky? I think it is. I feel very fortunate to be surrounded by, and loved by people who see past my flaws.
I feel about bodies, the way I feel about houses. Curb appeal only really matters if a) you intend to sit outside in your front yard a lot, or b) you’re trying to make a sale. Of course you want your exterior to be in good shape, and as attractive as is feasible to maintain because the health of the exterior is what protects the health of your interior, but it’s what you find past the front door that makes a house a home. How comfortable are you inside? How good does it feel to just kick back and relax? How happy are you when it’s just you and the clock ticking?
I’m pretty happy. Happy enough to get myself through to the Top 3 on X Factor!
The Outside Lane 