Adding the Years

They’re cutting down trees in the woods behind my house. I can hear them--machines groaning, tree branches breaking--but behind the thickness of the woods and the thin line of fencing around the back of my yard, I can’t see them. 

That’s kind of how I feel about aging--I know it’s there, but I didn’t see it coming.

Aging is so weird. I still feel the same as I did ten, fifteen years ago. Yet I turned on my camera today and tried to take a selfie, and it was horrible. My skin looked weird, and one eye wanted to open more than the other. My smile was more crooked than I remembered. When I look in the mirror, sometimes I don’t even look like me.

I’m still in here, but I don’t look the same.

It’s always a little shocking to me, but maybe that’s the wrong reaction. There’s no going back; it’s only ever forward, and whatever the changes that so surprise me, they are the way forward. I don’t think about the world or see the world the same as I did when I was 21. So why should it see me the same way either? 

The truth is that even though I feel surprised to see my own changes, I am also grateful for them. This is a good age, where I feel good in my skin, more grounded, while at 21, I actually didn’t spend too much time even thinking about my skin. Now I see my legs, and I think, “I like you.” At 21, I saw my legs and thought, “Hide them.” Now I look at my hair and think of possibilities. At 21, I looked at my hair and I saw problems that maybe another product could fix.

I wouldn’t go back to 21. I like where I am. And while I can’t see the other changes that are coming, still hidden behind the boundary lines, I hope I will be able to meet them with grace and appreciation for what I am still being given.