I really like this blogger’s take on growing older.
I didn’t bother much with my appearance until I discovered boys when I was about 13. And then I embraced sexual allure with alacrity. In truth, I think my mother was right when she said I looked like a prostitute. But I got lots of male attention and, as that was what I wanted, I was happy.
Today, I’m very different. I wear comfortable shoes. I don’t wash my hair every day. I rarely wear make-up. I don’t seek or receive male attention. And, you know what? I’m a whole lot happier now than I was at 16.
I got my first grey hair (it’s actually silver) a couple of years ago. And I have wrinkles round my eyes – mostly when I smile but I can see them getting deeper and more permanent. I wouldn’t say that these are badges of honour – more signs of a mis-spent youth, I think. But they’re me. And I don’t desire to change them. I use a moisturiser because I have dry skin and it gets sore if I don’t but it’s not a fancy ‘Look 10 years younger in 10 minutes’ one. I don’t plan on colouring my hair.
This isn’t to say I don’t make some kind of effort to look nice. And personal hygiene is a must. But spending an hour or more every day in front of the mirror, trying to change my appearance? No, thank you.
I’m small and round. I wear glasses. I work with animals. And, at 36, I’m accepting that I’m middle-aged. Why would any of that require me to look like a mannequin? Sure, it’s nice to dress up once in a while but I’d rather be comfy 99% of the time. And, you know what? Where I am now feels pretty good 🙂