As our physical bodies become less attractive, the Universe balances things out.
As the hair grays and the wrinkles multiply, my relationships become more refined, more relaxed, more important, and more beautiful. As my eyesight weakens and becomes blurry, my vision moves from the eyes to the heart, and I see more beauty through the filter of age, experience, and a little bit more wisdom. As flowing water smooths the rough edges of river rocks, so does time smooth the rough edges of everything I see. The world is a beautiful place and I love my place in it.
Usually…. Hey, no one can maintain a Zen state permanently.
Given the choice of walking the plank in shark infested waters, or standing naked before a full-length mirror, I would of course choose the full-length mirror. I’m not dumb, I’m not even vain, but still the decision would not have been made with anything close to enthusiasm, and only after a lengthy pause to seriously consider the choices.
Plus, there are people here, my beloved, my kids, my grandchildren, my sister and brother, extended family, a small circle of friends, that I’m not ready to leave. Mostly, I would not want any of them to know I had chosen to be torn apart by sharks while my hands were tied behind my back over seeing my sagging boobs and lumpy belly in a mirror. I never want people to think of me as shallow.
I have a full length mirror whose sole value to me is to ensure that my shoes match my pants and, more importantly, that they match each other. That’s it. I don’t want it to provide me with any other information. My eyes have weakened, sure, but the contact lenses I wear in order to find my way out of a room bring everything back to focus. Too … much … focus. It is always a surprise when I look. There is a different person standing there than whom I expected. Maybe not even a person. I consider the idea of a sculpture made from salt dough, or a painting entitled “Woman in Melting Body.”
I once had a magnifying mirror complete with lights. It told me things I didn’t want to know. I sold it in a garage sale to some unsuspecting foolish girl. I know she will grow to hate it as much as I did. Sorry, Chickie. No returns. Put it in your own garage sale. That cord is worth a quarter.
I don’t wish to grow old. There, I said it. Oh, sure, I wish to continue living, I love my life. I realize that living and aging are a boxed set, not to be sold separately. But that’s not fair. The reward for a long life is aging. What kind of messed up crap is that, anyway? I should be able to order off the ala carte menu. Let’s see. I’ll take the 100th birthday, without the broken hip. Does that come with crows’ feet, I’d prefer those on the side?”
