If the young, hot, ethereal lana del ray asks this question, imagine how much more so I might. o.k., so beautiful might be a bit much in my case: interesting, distinguished, cute, sometimes adorable, attractive maybe. beautiful is debatable, young is pretty straight forward and impossible to get around. you either are or you aren’t.
this all started with a horrible betrayal from my mother. well, actually, my grandmother started it, well, maybe my great grandmother, probably farther back than that…..she got old, you see. and in her doing so, it just goes to show that I will too. and that sucks. I am sort of half kidding about this, and kind of not
I am observing myself and finding a lot of surprising fear and judgment around the topic of aging. also discovering this utterly childish fantasy that I have always carried with me. on some level I have always imagined that one day, my mother and father and my grandparents and I would all be 35 together. all of us as peers. the same age and able to all be in the same place at the same time and discuss the choices we made, and our dreams and hopes and fears and we would all be equal. a level playing field. and then no one would get old or die and we would all just be in this place together. ridiculous, I know…
so instead, when I see these people aging, or dying, it seems like they are not playing by the rules. I feel betrayed, they are giving up. they are not trying hard enough to be, well….young. vital. and that somehow by default it means that I cannot control the aging/dying process either. this disturbs me greatly some days. makes me feel that my powers as a time lord are weak and ineffectual. and then, I imagine my daughter looking at me with the same disappointment, and perhaps , anger, realizing that she too will get old one day, because I could not stop the hands of time for her… or make her a vampire… same thing.
we live in a society where all that is desired, coveted and appreciated is young, surgically enhanced and airbrushed. or, old, surgically enhanced and airbrushed.
so, actually as I breathe into this space with the question, “will you still love me when I am no longer young and beautiful?” perhaps this question is not directed at some outside person at all, but at myself. will I still love me when I am no longer young and beautiful? which is NOW. can I forgive myself for aging? can I embrace my wisdom, grace, fire, fierce passion, loving heart and my lined face? and can I simultaneously stand strong in knowing that aging does not mean deteriorating, failing, frailty, loss of vitality, being stuck in the past, no longer curious, sharp, physical or sexual. in fact, it is an amazing opportunity to write your own future. to be your own time lord. because time is made up of “wibbly wobbly timey wimey stuff.” (thank you dr.) stuff for us to create something new with.
I have two slips of paper with sentences written on them on my altar in my bedroom and they say:
“love is not as difficult as you think” and “you will be different”.
i have taken them both seriously to heart as of late. i realize that i will not live forever, i will age and eventually die, but in the meantime i will fill my life with love and i will be different. and that difference, (and yoga) will keep me young and beautiful on the inside for the rest of my life. and that brings me happiness. and, for right now, i look really great in a pair of booty shorts…