We need to keep our expectations in check about our bodies. Our bodies do wear out. We have some control by taking care of it and keeping the bits and pieces moving. But, when you have had it for a long time, things shift. It is a natural occurrence and it is nothing to feel guilty, or resentful about.
I have always loved vintage clothes. My Nana was the most stylish woman I know and I wore everything she gave me from age 13 and beyond. When I find an outfit that resembles Nana's style, I am thrilled. That is why, what I wore to the dinner dance party this past Saturday night was particularly fun for me.
My eyebrows need a good tweezing, my hair is a tangled mess of curls, and I haven't even thought about makeup. I've been wearing the same shorts for the past four days. I haven't been to the gym. Every morning I wake up in a big, overwhelming fog. And I haven't been reading. Sound like a case of depression? I understand if it does.
I used to weigh myself two times a day all through college and until I had my first child -- and began again after my second was born. It started because the daily dorm breakfast of buttered cinnamon toast (three slices) ended up pushing on the seams of my jeans. When I finally got on the scale - it turned out I was up 8 pounds - Never had a weight issue before and now I was freaked.
My travel bucket list just got really long because I stole my friend's and added a few of my own to it. Just this past winter, I was on a women's ski trip and met a new friend from Toronto. We were talking about travels and she told me she had a travel bucket list. I loved that she had it on her iPhone. I asked if she minded sharing it with me and so she did.
In front of us, piled on a highly glossed wooden table, was an assortment of keys, lipsticks, mascaras, and hand creams. There was one tube of foot cream, two bottles of Advil, one bottle of Excedrin, and assorted prescription drugs. There were tea bags, nail files, perfume, hair brushes, make up, one extra large bobby pin, a dozen hair elastics, pens, and several bottles of hand lotion.
At 50-something, my hair still seems to be the bane of my existence, and I know I am not alone. Hair seems is big topic of conversation amongst women of all races, ethnicity, and age. But at midlife, there is a big part of me that wants to look in the mirror and say to my hair, 'enough about you already!'