*I'm just shy of 49.
*I've colored my hair to hide grey since my late twenties. I use e-salon now and am on auto-pay each month. It's my own formula sent directly to my door. If my hair wouldn't fall out, I'd color every 3 weeks to hide that I'm 100% grey. I'm not sure when or if I'll stop coloring.
*I've obsessed about my weight since probably age 8. I've been skinny, toooooo skinny, fat, very fat, and pregnant. I've never felt "just right".
*I pay a private trainer to make myself work out. As long as I am able to afford this service, I will pay for it.
*The first post divorce "gift" I gave myself was a Groupon for Juvaderm to erase what I referred to as my divorce wrinkle wedged deeply between my brows.
*I spent an obscene amount of money last year on radio frequency something or other to try to get rid of hail damage (aka buttercream frosting and all you can eat evenings alone and genetics) on the previously mentioned thighs. After 13 treatments, I realized it was doing nothing, so I switched the treatment to my face. It felt wonderful and it worked. Four people noticed that I looked great. I counted myself twice in that calculation.
*I was very, very careful when my daughter was young not to use negative body words for myself or others. I'm not sure when this shifted; but, if you asked her what I consider my flaws, she can list all of them. She'd probably add one or two that I have yet to notice. (Big grin)
*I crop all posted photos to hide or reduce my double chin, non-Michelle Obama arms, and muffin top over those ridiculous low cut jeans which I'd avoid if I could find other ones that actually fit. All my i-phone photographers are instructed to hold the phone higher than my height, blah, blah.
*I am vain. I wish I wasn't.
*I will not apologize for wanting to be beautiful.
As a young social worker fresh out of college, I worked with aging adults. I knew there was a vast difference in the way people aged and was fascinated why some 75 year old women appeared so much older than women 20 years their senior. I admitted, even then, it was my own informal research in order to ensure a better aging process for myself. I was naive enough to believe that I could avoid many of the downsides of aging through data and implementation. (Caveat----there are pieces of truth in this: eating correctly, exercising, managing emotional health, feeding your soul---these things do matter.)
Now that I've walked the road a little longer, I know that aging is unavoidable, even for the most disciplined of people. Bad things DO happen to good people. And, as my friend Gay would say, "Good things happen to BAD people!" If you breathe, life will happen to you. Even with my efforts, I can never insulate myself completely from pain--physical or emotional.
I was two generations from experiencing the realities of aging at Allied Housing in Denver. I collected data, though. I expected all of my clients to have grey hair, if any. The ninety year old woman with jet BLUE hair made me chuckle internally. I expected them to have wrinkles, and visible scars. I could observe the difficulties of managing dentures and the impact of weight loss with a set of rigid teeth connecting to shrunken gums. (Let's face it, I had no idea that weight and gums were connected!) Note to self then....take care of your teeth. I observed the difficulty of fractured hips and highlighted in my mental notes that people often die from complications after this injury. (Take a calcium supplement since you hate milk, Lori)
I loved my work and most of my clients. My favorite clients were the ones who could tell great stories. Ones that smiled and joked with me. I particularly loved the people who had made meaning of the darkest part of their journeys. I still admire resiliency.
Important rabbit trail story.....
Perhaps my favorite client of all was a tiny little woman named Minka Szyolwicz. She had dementia and came to my office daily to report the items stolen from her room. Most days we would go to her room and I would locate the item wrapped in notebook paper or a single ply napkin in the same place she hid it the day before. The item's contents, usually her teeth, would be notated in French, her 3rd language, in her own wobbly handwriting. She would laugh and say something like,
"OH! My Darrrling!!! Tank you zo much! You zee, I have to hide deez tings because dare is a teef--(always in a whisper) in this building. I forget vhere I put deeze tings."She would then repeat a story I'd heard almost daily and never tired of hearing. In great detail she would tell me about fleeing Poland to France because it was safer for Jewish people. When France became unsafe, her husband boarded the ship before she did. It was sailing early for some unknown reason. She and her infant son couldn't reach the ramp before it was moved away from the dock.
"I vas deveestated. But I cooed not allow de chance for my son to be taken by de Nazis. Zo, I called out to Joe. He vas crying and leeening off de edge of de sheep. He vas saying, 'Minka, my love. I VEEL CATCH HEEM!' Zo, I prayed to God and I trew my baby vith allllll my might into de air."
Her eyes clinched into small slits, she would pause. Tears would gather instantly and several would trickle from the edge of one eye. I would watch the movie being played in her head. Her eyes would pop open. Staring Heavenward, she would say the same thing each time in a hushed, reverent voice,
"My prayer vas answered."Her son Joe was a professor at a major local university.
Everyone loved Minka, all 4 foot 6 inches of her. She would sit in the lobby of the building. Frail and slumped over, her pelvis was almost even with her shoulder blades due to starvation as a teen and young adult. Her bones could snap with the slightest of falls. She was the first person I knew who didn't survive her hip fracture. As each staff member would leave she would she would say in her high pitched tone,
"Gud night darrling. Go DANCING!"
Why the long rabbit trail story? In the end, her impact on me was profound and had NOTHING to do with vanity. I loved her. She was the portrait of life and beauty and vitality. She never knew my name but she loved me too.
Does vanity matter enough that I'd invest so much emotional and physical energy to the point of sheer exhaustion? To the point of mental instability or pure out crazy eating disordered living? To the point of death for my dear, young friend?
Minka and my grandmother's generation are for the most part gone now. I'm watching my parents age. It's not easy. My admiration for persistence and grit of older people has incrementally increased. We can marvel at young athletes and their ability to lift comic book sized weights overhead. But, have you ever watched a 99 year old woman with congestive heart failure navigate herself with a walker in and out of the tiny bathroom several times a day?
Even in my early 40's I heard myself saying, "I am WAY TOO YOUNG to FEEL this OLD!" Now, joints previously unknown speak when I lower my feet to the carpet each morning. My arms aren't long enough to read any menu. And just yesterday I was told about a ringtone that kids use now because most grownups can't hear it. I tried it. I am a member of the unknowing adult club.
And I haven't even transitioned back into vanity and appearances. I noticed several years ago in public with my young, beautiful nieces that all eyes were on them. I'm not gonna lie. I know what it's like to be noticed. I also know what it feels like to ignore unnecessary people.
I am the unnoticed, irrelevant mom or aunt now. It's weirder for me than I'd imagined back in the day because I'm single again and not sure how to navigate this whole gig. The best I get is, "She looks good for her age." (All you co-dependents...I'm not looking for a NO you don't comment.) It is true. And I'm trying to adapt and adjust in a way that nurtures and doesn't destroy. In another 15 years, I'll be in the category of grandmotherly types--regardless of whether I'm actually a grandmother.
So what in the world am I saying?
I think our culture is absolutely screwed up when it comes to aging and beauty!
Every magazine for my demographic is funded by ads for plastic surgery, aging creams, and miracles to look younger and feel better. Even the age appropriate models have their wrinkles and scars brushed out with a Photoshop tool.
Where are the women with crows feet and bingo arms?
Where is the paper thin leather on the chests of women who used Johnson's Baby Oil while lying on a metallic mat during peak tanning hours?
I'd clearly be a hypocrite if I say, let's stop ALL of this! Not what I'm saying.
But, is it possible that with our generation we could start offering grace to ourselves for stupid tanning decisions?
If my hip breaks, can I not blame myself for being a typical 20 year old and ignoring solid advice to take a calcium supplement?
Can we be gentle with ourselves and dare I say be grateful for the line of blubber that happened after multiple babies were delivered via c-section?
Can we be accepting of what real life looks like on a real person?
Here's what I'm doing.
*I started with accepting my thighs after this blog in the Spring. How Long is a Minute?
*I'm committed to embracing my whole body with grace and acceptance--naked or clothed. I'm applauding Lena Dunham for modeling to her generation that perfect bodies are not required for success in Hollywood or NYC or Lansing, Michigan.
*I am focusing more emotional energy on learning how to be a storycatcher.
*I am trying to model for my daughter my commitment to health with an eye towards the realities of aging and accidents and real life. I want her to see that it's OK to enhance what she has, IF she wants that. I want her to value and honor all of the privileges and responsibilities that come with aging and caring for those who age.
*I want her to be aware that physical beauty IS fleeting. Inner beauty is timeless.
Aging is not valued in our culture. It's unfortunate. And if I don't change the pathway, she will follow in my footsteps, at least for a period of her life, if not her whole.
And it's possible that our generation can change that cultural flaw. Who's with me? Let's start today. How can you make a change?
****I'm a huge supporter of Dove for all that they are doing to alter our crazy cultural biases. I buy their soap and deodorant just because of their commitment. I saw this newer video and it made me realize that my negativity was making an impact on my own daughter. Powerful stuff here. Another way we have hope for change.
Redefine Beauty--Dove--click here. .
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