i had a dream i was an old woman last night. grey hair, wrinkled face, soft arms. and all i felt was freedom.
i think i’ll be powerful when i’m old. imagine all the things i’ll know.
i’ll know how to style my clothes. i’ll know how to write a book. i’ll know which seasonings go together. pow!
i’ll know what a lie looks like in somebody’s mouth.
i’ll know how to be proud, how to be loud, how to be myself.
i’ll know because right now i’ve decided to value wisdom over beauty.
by the time i’m old, i’ll have been working. i’ll stay aware and collect skills, information, and clever friends. i’ll never give up on my growth. i’ll never give up on my craft. i’ll never give up on myself.
It’s a cold morning.
Damn.
Is fall here already?
The sound of cars and trucks rumble in the distance. The world is awake. My dream fades away from my mind. And back to reality, I’m young again.
In the bathroom mirror, I watch myself as I swill natural mouthwash back and forth between my cheeks. Then I spit it out. An herbaceous soothing tonic; who knows if it actually helps anything.
My smile lines are permanent now. I smile, drop the expression, then smile again. Strangely, I’m relieved by this fact. I used to obsess over my smile lines in photographs, even though I would be like, 24 years old. God, that was so exhausting. Such a waste of time. I enjoy them now that I don’t feel like I have to try and fill them with serums and masks “before it’s too late.”
Wrinkles are a feature of my face now, and it’s fucking fantastic. It’s nice when choice is taken out of your control, sometimes.
I run my hands through my hair. Check whether one side is thinning. Notice my shoulders hunching another degree downwards. Gravity keeps me alive and simultaneously compacts my spine. Soon, the magic of gravity will appear on my face with sagging skin too.
This is what I do now. I watch myself. Every day, I count the minor changes. They’ll add up to a whole new picture. It will feel sudden.
One day, I’ll wake up and see a different person in the mirror. A mature person. Will I grow up fast enough internally to meet her there? Why hadn’t I been preparing for my growth better? Or rather, why do I doubt I can handle it?
I look at myself one last time before making coffee.
All I want. All I really want, is to be an old woman when I grow up.
I want to be so old, my voice sounds like a cricket at moonrise.
I want to be so old, my eyes look like “they’ve seen some things.”
I want to be old. OLD!
Why should I pretend I don’t want to be old, when aging is such a gift?
Wrinkles are sexy.
Grey is powerful.
Time is a luxury.
Yeah, I want those things. I don’t want this fear passed down to me, marketed to me every day. Why should I fear time, when I’m desperate for more of it? Let time do what it wants to my body. It’s a fair exchange to be here, perceiving this planet. This universe. Let time spot our skin with marks. Let emotional moments with friends and family deepen your wrinkles, when you laugh and cry together. Wrinkles are proof of your existence. They should be thought of as beautiful. Because, the fact you are here experiencing this rare moment of life is fucking beautiful.
Yes yes yes!! I want to hear more from other women who are embracing the changes and writing about this. The daily slog of anti aging that we are bombarded with needs to be drowned out by other voices and muses. Thank you for this! I have it saved to revisit and draw inspiration from.
This is so beautiful and such a breath of fresh air - growing old is a privilege. Love your writing so much, immediate subscribe💘💐