I am noticing lately how my routine is preparing
for being forty while my brain solidly resists, firmly believing I am still
only twenty-five.
For example, my shelf in the bathroom now contains a product that promises to lift, smooth and plump parts of my facial landscape I never previously thought about. It sits there in its squat, solid glory in a glass container that quietly announces a long-term relationship. It isn't flashy. it doesn't smell like a tropical fruit. It isn't tinted or fancy by any stretch. It doesn't have a fancy pump or sparkly letters. It doesn't promise overnight success. And it has sunscreen. A lot of sunscreen.
(If that doesn't scream long-term commitment I don't know what does, especially when I think about my routine of younger years which included trying to have as much sun-color as possible. )
And this seems like a statement about my life in general. This year I have started to allow that life doesn't last forever. I am fallible. My packaging is weak and needs care. I am not immune to breaks, serious illness, etc. Perhaps this is because I have lost two souls dear to me and am in the agonizing process of yet another. Perhaps it is simply that some part of my primitive brain is telling me to slow up and make long-range plans. There isn't endless time for frittering and waste. Take care or you may be sorry later. Maybe it was the stark realization when my grandfather passed that everyone in my family moved into a new slot. The new oldest generation was my parents. Which meant....I was now taking my parents spot. Life was marching on and we all had new roles.
Whatever it is, I find myself thinking about things in long-range perspective. Will I still want this five, ten, more years from now? Do I need it? What is it teaching my children when they see me doing X? How do I want to spend my fifties? My seventies?
My mother and Oprah swear that forty is when you find yourself. Know who you are. Find the inner strength to accept who you are and ignore those who don't. Maybe this is the first tinge of this awakening. I don't know. And I don't know what to think of it. It's foreign. It's one of those things that I find myself only vaguely aware of unless I stop and question. Kind of like this first time you feel your baby move and you question "Wait? Was that it? What was that?" It's not unpleasant, it's just kind of "not me" or at least not the "me" I'm used to being.
And so if the bathroom shelf is a euphemism for this stage, it seems that my life is moving toward quality not quantity, solidity not flash and sparkle, and investment in the future and not a focus on passing fad. It will be different. But I kind of like this girl I'm getting to know. I hope she sticks around a while.
For example, my shelf in the bathroom now contains a product that promises to lift, smooth and plump parts of my facial landscape I never previously thought about. It sits there in its squat, solid glory in a glass container that quietly announces a long-term relationship. It isn't flashy. it doesn't smell like a tropical fruit. It isn't tinted or fancy by any stretch. It doesn't have a fancy pump or sparkly letters. It doesn't promise overnight success. And it has sunscreen. A lot of sunscreen.
(If that doesn't scream long-term commitment I don't know what does, especially when I think about my routine of younger years which included trying to have as much sun-color as possible. )
And this seems like a statement about my life in general. This year I have started to allow that life doesn't last forever. I am fallible. My packaging is weak and needs care. I am not immune to breaks, serious illness, etc. Perhaps this is because I have lost two souls dear to me and am in the agonizing process of yet another. Perhaps it is simply that some part of my primitive brain is telling me to slow up and make long-range plans. There isn't endless time for frittering and waste. Take care or you may be sorry later. Maybe it was the stark realization when my grandfather passed that everyone in my family moved into a new slot. The new oldest generation was my parents. Which meant....I was now taking my parents spot. Life was marching on and we all had new roles.
Whatever it is, I find myself thinking about things in long-range perspective. Will I still want this five, ten, more years from now? Do I need it? What is it teaching my children when they see me doing X? How do I want to spend my fifties? My seventies?
My mother and Oprah swear that forty is when you find yourself. Know who you are. Find the inner strength to accept who you are and ignore those who don't. Maybe this is the first tinge of this awakening. I don't know. And I don't know what to think of it. It's foreign. It's one of those things that I find myself only vaguely aware of unless I stop and question. Kind of like this first time you feel your baby move and you question "Wait? Was that it? What was that?" It's not unpleasant, it's just kind of "not me" or at least not the "me" I'm used to being.
And so if the bathroom shelf is a euphemism for this stage, it seems that my life is moving toward quality not quantity, solidity not flash and sparkle, and investment in the future and not a focus on passing fad. It will be different. But I kind of like this girl I'm getting to know. I hope she sticks around a while.
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