Six years ago. Believe it or not, here I was just starting to figure out who I am. I’d just gone back to school for the first degree. I was a few weeks away from walking away from a job I’d held for nine years. Best thing I ever did. I look so young here. I had a lot of growing up to do yet. I like me so much better now.
It’s true. I’d like to be young and flexible again. I’d like to be as thin as I was in my 30s. There’s no way I’d go back to how I felt inside at that age, though, and the girl I was at that time. I didn’t like her very much. She was a bit of a drip. I tried so hard to please everyone else. I lost who I was. The girl shown here is 51, and she was still floundering.
Inside is the me I don’t let anyone see. Here are two different versions of me from this past weekend. The me without glasses, and without makeup. The me who’s lonely and missing her husband when he got called out for an unexpected run mid-day Saturday so instead of our usual Saturday evening-Sunday morning together, I spent it alone. Yes, I’m sad and hurting here. I don’t much like being alone.
I tried to take a photo to send him to show him what he was missing, and all I got was a pitiful, sad picture of a lonely girl. The me I don’t let anyone see. It’s kind-of a melancholy weekend. I found a crack in my engagement ring. The gold actually broke – right through the band. It’s in for repairs. Yes, it can be fixed, but I don’t like being without it. I’ll be without it for ten days. Then I got the news that he was off again. Yes, I’m sad here.
Then there’s the me I show the cyber world. The dressed up, made up, yes, Photoshopped me. Yes, I’m vain. I filter out the imperfections. My coworkers get a slightly less filtered version of me on a daily basis. I still use eyeliner, mascara, concealer, powder and lip gloss. I touch it up all day long. I don’t hesitate to tell everyone I’m 57, but I don’t have to look it. I put my best foot forward.
Time marches on for all of us. My mother always said that’s where we’re all equal. No one can stop time. We can try, but it gets us all in the end. Even the wealthy and the famous. They can inject, cut, tuck, and alter themselves all they want. They still get old, and they just look foolish by trying to hide it.
With time comes wisdom. With time also comes lines, wrinkles, imperfections, and fat. Aging sucks, but it sure beats the alternative. I don’t mind the exterior getting a bit beat, battered and worn as long as the me I don’t let anyone see continues to grow and evolve. She’s the only who really matters.