My “After-Life” Series ~ Get a Handle On It!
By Susan Keats, Contributor & Seize-the-Day Propagandist
Did you know that a 50 year old woman from MY TOWN has found a secret to rid herself of wrinkles that is even better than Botox? And can you believe, DOCTORS don’t want me to know about it?
And, did you know that a 65 year old woman, also from MY TOWN (wow, what a talented town I live in) has NO CELLULITE and if I just click….right here on this….oh. I have to watch this long video thing and….oh. I have to buy this … stuff….
I look in the mirror and I see a face that I don’t recognize as my own. I exercise regularly, yet my body is changing in ways that are unfamiliar. I see endless articles and blog posts written about aging gracefully, and boy do they irritate me. I’m feeling self-absorbed, self-deprecating, self-conscious…maybe self-ish.
These feelings are strangely familiar. I feel a sense of déjà vu. I have definitely been here before.
Oh, help me! I have become a teenager all over again.
Yes, somehow I’m still that kid who spent ridiculous amounts of time wishing that my hair was a different texture, or my eyes were blue, or my knees weren’t so knobby. Has anything changed? Really? At 51, am I not supposed to be older and wiser?
Advertisers don’t think so. They love people like me. I am still perfectly capable of being pushed and pulled by whatever definition of beauty they aim at me.But ironically, just the other day I was warning my daughters about them. “They airbrushed those pictures!” I informed them. “Don’t believe it. Nobody really looks like that.”
Now I’m standing here in the light of day, poking at my face in the mirror. Squeezing flesh around my middle. I don’t like what I see and I am NOT beyond wanting plastic surgery to make these problems go away. I am not beyond being upset by my appearance. DON’T tell me about aging gracefully because I won’t. I won’t. I WON’T!!!
Teenagers are known to throw tantrums.
While I’m feeling awkward about flailing my arms around and screaming a second ago, I’ve also come to realize that certain phrases are creeping into my vocabulary.
“Back in the day…” I said recently.
“Once, when I was young…” I started a story.
“A hundred years ago, when I used to be cool…” yeah, I actually said that one too.
“WTF?” my inner teen is screaming! “WTF! Listen to yourself! What’s up with that?”
We Boomers want advertisers to aim their sites at us, but in doing so, we also will fall victim to the same strategies that have historically made women feel inferior and never good enough. I feel it and I STILL want to be beautiful.
What a relief it would be if I wasn’t continuously bombarded with reminders of my age, but was encouraged instead to prioritize other things: books, classes, ideas, travel, excitement! Why, with a mind focused on my wonderful life ahead, (which is full of possibilities) I’d actually be a really happy gal!
It wasn’t so long ago that after having finished grueling cancer treatments, I had a new lease on life and a wiser understanding of what is important. But as time ticks on, wisdom gained seems to sift down into the sediment and gets covered over by the superficial rhythm of regular life. I don’t enjoy this adolescent, self-obsessed version of me. What do I do to recapture wise me? Where is the one who knew oh so clearly that all of this other stuff is ridiculous?
Turns out, all it takes is the Boston Marathon bombing to bulldoze those lessons right back to the surface. As I watch the horrific images it is all perfectly clear to me once again. How many times do I need to learn that life is precious and that in a moment all can change?
People in Boston have lost limbs and loved ones. I have mine. I have my face, my mind, my body, my life.
Feeling like a teen is unbecoming to me as a grown woman. I am fully capable of having a better handle on things than certain advertisers would want me to believe I have. Life can be too short to waste on obsessing over appearance.
Aren’t the most beautiful people we know the ones who are living lives that are fulfilling, who exude an inner joy that we all see and feel while in their presence? I aim to be THAT happy gal.
And this extra flesh here…and here? I no longer want to blast it away with pills and potions. Those are my Wise Handles. They are here to stay.