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Gravity, time and badges of honor

A blog by a mid-lifer wouldn't be complete without occasional musings on the whole aging thing, so here ya go. My first in what may prove to be a series, over time, on my thoughts about this topic.

First of all, the whole inside feeling young and perky and healthy vs the outside showing the ravages feels fundamentally unfair, but it is what it is. We sun, we laugh, we stress, we get too little sleep, we simply live, and, over time...lots of time, all of this shows. On our faces. Everywhere, actually.

So what should we do? Should we refrain from life's roller coaster ride and live in a bubble sans sun, sans laughter, sans the complexity that makes the great journey infinitely interesting? I don't think so.

One of my fondest memories of sun worship involves my Mom, and me at 9 months pregnant with my son. We oiled up, laid out, and for the first time in months my aches went away and I soaked up the lovely Spring sunshine. Which was actually kind of funny, when you think about it. A whale in a bikini. Yikes. Also, after I delivered, that brown big baby tummy became a really brown postpartum tummy. Really brown.

When I think back to some of the people who've aged the best among my parents' generation, and then look around at my contemporaries, the whole sun exposure thing comes into play. Big time.  I'm pretty much screwed on this one because a. I grew up in the high desert and couldn't wear any of the early sunscreens due to severe reactions to them and b. I love the outdoors and in spite of fanatical skin protection over the last several decades, evidence of photoaging exists. Crap.

How have I addressed my aging concerns so far? Better skin care. Yoga. Meditation. Drinking lots of water. Maintaining a healthy weight. Managing career stress better. Embracing the simpler pleasures more.

How do I plan future age battles? Carefully, and certainly not invasively, with injections meant to plump and smooth and paralyze expression. Nipping and tucking really aren't options, either, as much as I'd enjoy losing via lipo that pesky couple of pounds that clings to my backside in spite of my best efforts. Not gonna do it.

I've seen people who've begun the process. It usually starts with a foray into Botox, maybe followed by injections of Juvaderm and other smoothing, plumping substances. All need replenishing; none fix the problem permanently. None. Chemical peels seem to be an attractive alternative for those who wish a resurface of that magnitude. I'm all for pre-emptive strikes on precancerous skin--that's not my point here, it's about the cosmetic piece.

And once people begin the process, they seem to continue, then go for more drastic measures over time as their temporary age-fighting endeavors fail. It's scary to behold. It must be even scarier to live.

If you're in a place where the only way to feel better involves paralyzing your facial muscles, plumping your cheeks and lips and resurfacing to the point where that reddish hue never dissipates, you may need to rethink your self-image. The whole startled halibut look is really NOT attractive. Ask anyone, particularly men. Yikes.

Or maybe I'm living in the dark ages. Maybe my desire to be as healthy as possible, eat well, live well, love well, embrace life is simply old fashioned.

One thing I do know? I've experienced a LOT so far in this life, and if the penalty I pay is laugh lines, freckles and the occasional dark circle under the eye, I'm ok with that. What I can't imagine is having lived and deliberately creating an inflexible mask to cover it all up.

That's just weird. Oh, and it's been my observation that gravity wins. Every time.

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