An Unexceptional Blog

I have, dear reader, frown lines. Their name betrays that I must surely be angry all the time; I must surely be the kind of mother that says “no” to everything; I must be someone that disapproves of all those I cross. I used to be really scared of what these lines communicate about me. But, I have since taken the time, one particular morning, to get up close and personal with my frown lines. I twisted my face this way and that and saw what kinds of expressions time had eroded into my flesh. I saw anger, yes, but I realized that many other expressions etch these lines, too. These frown lines are also, it turns out, compassion lines, empathy lines, and concentration lines. So, I’ve renamed these lines for myself; they are my connection lines, now.

I also have grey hairs, dear reader. I admit that there aren’t that many in my extremely thick hair, but, I cherish every small strand of sliver. Every time I make my usual hip-length French braid I am looking forward with hope to the day it will be all grey. How lucky will I be to live that long, and acquire so much wisdom as can only be imparted to me with years and years of lived experience?

I used to be afraid of the changes I would feel as I grow older. The world — with its countless anti-aging products and surgeries, and with its insidious photo-altering campaigns altering our own understanding of what aging bodies look like — wants me to be afraid of my age: afraid that this age is visible, in the form of my softer body, greying hair, and wrinkled face.

When my husband and I were younger, we used to ask things like “will you still love me when I’m old and wrinkly?” I realized that back then, it was sort of implicit that we were suggesting that we would love each other despite being old. Even when we are old, we will still love each other. Getting old felt daunting, or even scary: we would inevitably be entirely different than we are now, we will assuredly be shadows of ourselves. 

As we are growing older, turns out I am genuinely excited about it. I don’t love my husband despite him being old. I don’t love him because of it either. I just love that we are doing this “old” thing together. It is exciting to see how we change, and grow, and wrinkle, and love more and more with each passing year. I think I used to believe “old people,” in their slower bodies, inevitably had slower minds as well. How wrong I was! My heart is wild, my heart is bold, my heart is loud: just as it was when I was younger. And, I still look in my husband’s green freckled eyes and see the teenager with whom I fell in love, all those years ago. 

Dear reader, consider looking at your softening body, your greying hair, and your wrinkling face with a little more tenderness. Not everyone gets the privilege of growing old. Accept what time does to your fleshy vessel of a body with as much grace as you can. Squeeze the squishiest parts of you, and channel the feeling you get when you do the same to a baby’s thigh rolls, in pure adoration. Display any strand of grey and white in your mane with pride, and let them shine to alert the world around you that you have lived and are alive, and so you have wisdom to share. And, consider taking a closer look at what lines time left on your face, and embrace with awe how it communicates something unique about you to anyone who gets to meet you.