Wrinkles on the inside of my elbows? Wrinkles on the tops of my hands? Wrinkles on my thumbs? Really?
NIGHT NIGHT: No new wrinkle before bed. MORNING: Surprise! New Rip Van Wrinkle in the morning! WTH!!! So not invited!
I would be an absolute liar, liar pants on fire if I said that wrinkles don’t bother me. They do. They do. They do! Being honest. But I’m adjusting. Sort of. In another 22 years, when I’m 69, I am hopeful that I’ll have the “Helen Mirren/Diane Keaton Attitude.” Inside and out, they are beautiful women and have aged gracefully (plastic surgery or not). (And unlike me, they have probably always been faithful to sunscreen.)
But here’s my thing. I can’t, nor do I want (currently) to do anything* about the collagen that now plays cruel disappearing magic tricks on me. And given the fact that I believe I was born collagen deficient to begin with, I’m left with endeavoring to embrace this inevitable wrinkly situation.
Based on this Rip Van Wrinklehood, here’s my far-fetched philosophy. Each wrinkle is a bit of someone else that shares or shared life with me – that touched me in some way. My mother. My sister. My brother. My grandmother. My aunt. My niece. My husband. Friends. Even exes. My wrinkles tell a story about me and clothe me in a previous or present emotion based on each and every interaction in my life. These “wrinkle connections” represent spiritual and emotional grooves of love, recognition, some something and they are here to stay. (But what the heck is up with thumb wrinkles???)
So, yes, I’m still going to use the best face cleansers and body moisturizers that I can. And, based on my southern heritage, I am probably never going to stop wearing makeup. It’s who I am. (My grandmother wore makeup when she would waterski, and she was a kick-a** woman!) But when a wrinkle rears its ugly little, ummmm….pretty little line…I’ll really, really try and smile (but not too much! more wrinkles!) think to myself, “Well, hello, grandmother. Was wondering when you might show up again.”
Zenitude for today:
Let’s love our wrinkle connections – they are part of what makes us…us.
(*Wrinkle note: I have absolutely nothing against any woman or man choosing medical treatments to fight wrinkles. Go for it. Do it. Absolutely. You’re braver than I am. I would end up with “wind-tunnel” face, I’m sure.)