Aging Into Beauty

from my original blog deusaheart.blogspot.com

I've always noticed how my mother’s eyes light up when people mistakenly assume her to be my older sister. At 53, her baby smooth skin clings tightly to her face as her wildly curly hair mark her a woman of excitement.

The 31 years that separate us tell a valiant story of a doe-eyed southern woman who mustered the courage to travel to over 14 different countries before I was ever born.  These stories are etched in the subtle lines of her skin. These stories are told whenever she opens her mouth to reveal the smiles tucked in-between her now aging cheeks.

My mother speaks to me at times about how she feels she is getting and looking older. She spends extended moments in front of her mirror inspecting for newly formed 'flaws' that christen her a golden girl. I admit that there have even been times when I console her yet I always wonder why I try to comfort her over something that should be embraced.

I am sometimes too afraid to tell her that I am enamored by the newly formed lines that paint the bridges of her nose when she smiles. It is only when I see them that I know she has truly found a moment of happiness. 

Because of my youth privilege, I am highly aware of and a beneficiary of this ageist system. We are constantly told to believe as womyn that the prime of our lives can only exist within our youth.  I am told at this age (22) to reach for the stars, whereas my mother is made to believe that it is “downhill from here”.

So my mother should relinquish her dreams, desires, sex life, and zest for adventure simply because she is no longer the “spring chicken” she used to be? I can imagine that as a middle aged womyn, being force-fed a psychological diet of “ticking biological clocks” and anti-aging commercials it becomes almost second nature to want to dismiss the reality of age. So I suppose this glimmer in her eyes reflects a sense of promise and potential; the promise that things might not be over for her just yet.  

And they aren’t.

This aging process is something I look forward to walking through with my mother. For the next few decades, I anticipate watching her wrinkled, laugh lined face deepening to birth infectious smiles and bouts of laughter. They will mark her as a well-traveled and well-accomplished woman with stories to tell her family, lover(s), and friends.

So now, when my mother stares at her calloused hands and says she has alligator skin, I dare her to look again. I dare her to see the beauty steeped in the furrows of her fingers.  

I hope that when she looks in the mirror from now on that she sees that her beauty is not lost nor has it been adulterated. It has simply ascended to a higher form. Each day we both get older, and with all of our years apart I will always struggle to catch up to the divine beauty that she possesses. The beauty of wisdom that comes with embracing time, life, and experience.