Looking into the mirror the other day I wondered amusingly who was that old woman staring back at me. Those drooping creases around her mouth, deep crowfeet around her eyes, a lack of luster and suppleness in the cheeks, the grey hair.
I find aging to be a very unsettling process, as it is so very relative and extremely exponential. It sneaks upon us, comes out of nowhere and is unstoppable. Yet the absolute worst thing about this inevitable physical decline must be the fact that it does not at all reflect the age we feel inside.
At times I entertain the idea of fixing it. I am a strong opponent of plastic surgery done solely for cosmetic purpose, yet I too pull the skin on my face back occasionally just for a moment in order to revisit the looks of my past. But eventually I just giggle and realize that I would rather be wrinkled as a dried up raisin, being genuine through and through than be perfectly artificial and superficial. After all, I have found that the very old cliche of beauty lying within
is true. Experiences and a life lived reflected in a face in combination with an inner glow radiating happiness makes a human being endlessly attractive.
Indeed, time moves forward whether we like it or not and yet another winter is ending - way too fast. I am now only two months away from an event I dread. By each passing day this inevitable occurrence occupies my thinking more frequently, as I try hard to find positive aspects of the impeding separation from the man I love. They are few to none I am afraid.
Thus I work hard presently on one of my greatest drawbacks - the need for control. Anything beyond my control unsettles and worries me. Being with a man that is a total opposite in this trait makes me realize that if I relax and let events unfold, everything will be fine. Still, old habits die hard.
I watch the spring sun illuminate our windows and see how dusty they are. It makes me smile as I recall the windows of my white house on the hill. Just a year ago I had no idea that twelve months down the road I would no longer live there. At times I miss the unrestricted view of the sky, which instigated a sense of liberation. I also miss some of my possessions. It is an odd feeling having had a large home filled with items that belonged to me only, to have them suddenly gone. Sometimes I wonder when/if I will ever see them again - and when I do, will that make me happy?
For someone who has lived on her own more than half of her life, I find it very easy to share a home with a new family. I have adapted and have gotten accustomed to this house, which is so very different from my former home. When all the children are here with us, it is way too small and too crowded. Still, during those times it exuberates life and love, something that I can no longer - nor will no longer - be without. Despite the fact that I once had almost thirteen hundred square feet for myself, I am today perfectly happy and content when I can escape for just a few minutes to my favourite spot in the kitchen. Here I can sit undisturbed with my laptop at the table, watching the birch tree branches sway in the wind outside the window against pink sunrises, while I listen to the sound and laughter of my loved ones in close proximity.
Yes, this house is certainly too small and too old. With almost half a century on its back, it is outdated and old fashioned.
Nevertheless, I smile as I realize it is just like me.
Similar in age, it is no longer supple and young. But it is original and endlessly beautiful because it has seen and felt life that is preserved between its walls. It has a soul that has been fueled by the presence of its occupants. Somewhere deep within I sense that right now it is making memories that will last a life time.
And so am I.