I think we look at, puzzle over, digest, and
share photos of ourselves when we were younger.
We say ' Wow! Youth!' And then inch by inch, if we want, we learn the beauty of the infant. Of the child, the adolescent. The young adult at reproductive prime. The middle age flavor of beauty.
The beauty of the person who is sixty and seventy and eighty and ninety.
We all remember being in our 20s, and gazing upon somebody in their 50s or 80s or 90s. It seemed like they were an alien, even if we loved them; all those changes in the body. The slowing of speech and mental processes, even if they were acutely aware and present.
I myself had no capacity at that age to realize that my body would grow old. That my nose and feet and ears would keep growing! Oh! Really, that it was all true. That if I lived long enough, I would ever be different than I was that day.
It seems understandable enough, right? There's just so much going on at that age. So much unknown. If you're lucky, so many plans.
As we enter our 40s and reach our 50s and wander into our 60s, look at the focus. It's completely different. So is our awareness of the world. We've begun to get to know the terrain. We've begun to figure out how to navigate better.
It also doesn't seem a huge mystery to me that our internal concept of who we are doesn't match with an aging body. Why should it?
I think what our body looks like has been a continual surprise from childhood. I think it's simply something to learn to accept. So we don't have the repetitive stress of being surprised when we look in the mirror. And instead , learn to remind ourselves that, as the forest changes each and every day , so shall we.
I think it's something we should anticipate. And say to ourselves "Yes. I'm going to be surprised every now and again when I look in the mirror, as I AM growing older.". And accept that we may never actually internally feel - the way we look on the outside.
You know what it's like to love somebody? And only intermittently notice their physical appearance ; the things that differ from ads filled with photoshopped models?
We look at people we care for , filled with love. That keeps us looking at that face, and seeing the beauty. The loveliness. Or feeling the attraction.
It seems that this is what we want cultivate, toward ourselves. This affection. This deep compassion and tenderness. This appreciation of these beautiful aging hands and feet and face and mind.
We all know by now that struggling against what is ...only causes us pain. Finding the way in, to what is, is key.
It seems like that is the role of self-love. As is self-care. The pleasure of taking care of ourselves ;the affectionate acknowledgement of all the processes of aging. As opposed to the fear.
The pragmatic planning, if we are able, as we grow older. Versus the anxiety and fear and denial; the putting off looking at, putting off the shock of the changes, putting off the inevitable aspects of aging.
I think if we don't support in each other the courage to feel the grief and loss of aging, and come out the other side to the acceptance, it's harder to not recoil from wrinkling, age spots, lost elasticity of skin, old eyes and lips. Our own. Others.
It seems, though, if we can manage to learn from wisdom of the past, wisdom of some elders, and of the oak and the bear and the earth, we are comforted by "a time for all things under heaven."
It is then that we relax and discover the beauty that lies in older bodies. In our slowly growing-older self.
We say ' Wow! Youth!' And then inch by inch, if we want, we learn the beauty of the infant. Of the child, the adolescent. The young adult at reproductive prime. The middle age flavor of beauty.
The beauty of the person who is sixty and seventy and eighty and ninety.
We all remember being in our 20s, and gazing upon somebody in their 50s or 80s or 90s. It seemed like they were an alien, even if we loved them; all those changes in the body. The slowing of speech and mental processes, even if they were acutely aware and present.
I myself had no capacity at that age to realize that my body would grow old. That my nose and feet and ears would keep growing! Oh! Really, that it was all true. That if I lived long enough, I would ever be different than I was that day.
It seems understandable enough, right? There's just so much going on at that age. So much unknown. If you're lucky, so many plans.
As we enter our 40s and reach our 50s and wander into our 60s, look at the focus. It's completely different. So is our awareness of the world. We've begun to get to know the terrain. We've begun to figure out how to navigate better.
It also doesn't seem a huge mystery to me that our internal concept of who we are doesn't match with an aging body. Why should it?
I think what our body looks like has been a continual surprise from childhood. I think it's simply something to learn to accept. So we don't have the repetitive stress of being surprised when we look in the mirror. And instead , learn to remind ourselves that, as the forest changes each and every day , so shall we.
I think it's something we should anticipate. And say to ourselves "Yes. I'm going to be surprised every now and again when I look in the mirror, as I AM growing older.". And accept that we may never actually internally feel - the way we look on the outside.
You know what it's like to love somebody? And only intermittently notice their physical appearance ; the things that differ from ads filled with photoshopped models?
We look at people we care for , filled with love. That keeps us looking at that face, and seeing the beauty. The loveliness. Or feeling the attraction.
It seems that this is what we want cultivate, toward ourselves. This affection. This deep compassion and tenderness. This appreciation of these beautiful aging hands and feet and face and mind.
We all know by now that struggling against what is ...only causes us pain. Finding the way in, to what is, is key.
It seems like that is the role of self-love. As is self-care. The pleasure of taking care of ourselves ;the affectionate acknowledgement of all the processes of aging. As opposed to the fear.
The pragmatic planning, if we are able, as we grow older. Versus the anxiety and fear and denial; the putting off looking at, putting off the shock of the changes, putting off the inevitable aspects of aging.
I think if we don't support in each other the courage to feel the grief and loss of aging, and come out the other side to the acceptance, it's harder to not recoil from wrinkling, age spots, lost elasticity of skin, old eyes and lips. Our own. Others.
It seems, though, if we can manage to learn from wisdom of the past, wisdom of some elders, and of the oak and the bear and the earth, we are comforted by "a time for all things under heaven."
It is then that we relax and discover the beauty that lies in older bodies. In our slowly growing-older self.
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