So, I turned 50 yesterday. It was a yikes moment, although it didn’t hit me as hard as I thought. I can’t stop it and the alternative to stopping it just seem to sit well with me. I don’t know. Maybe I’m denial. I mean, I don’t feel 50. I still have these teenage thoughts running in my head. Thank GOD I do not have teenage angst running through me. Which brings me to my point, there are so many great things about turning 50.
First, my skin finally fits perfectly and I am comfortable in it. I have finally embraced how I am. For example, I am messy and disorganized. Papers are scattered in a catch-all basket, clothes are strewn all around my room, I still haven’t completely unpacked from last weekends jot out of town and one of my mourning rituals is to run around looking for my car keys. After 50 years, I haven’t changed any of it and I figure at this point, I mind as well embrace it. Somehow, the world has not collapsed around me….yet.
Second, I have started to accept my strengthens. Now, this may seem easy, yet it has been hard one for me. You don’t just breakout from self-doubt overnight. For every “I did this great” or “I like this about myself” I think or say…not to anyone BUT myself mind you… I follow it with a buts – “but, I could have done better” or “but I need to work on this”. I am learning to drop the rest of the sentence I add on at the end. It’s an odd sensation and a struggle, BUT I am getting it.
Third, I am learning to like my reflection. I’ve never put much effort into my looks. And for the past year, I have cared less. Don’t get me wrong, I do the basic hygienic necessities, however, most recently, the other things don’t matter as much. I sport a low maitenance haircut. I still don’t dye my hair – never have – and my hair products last a longer time. I spend five minutes on make up… if I put it on at all. My clothes are pratical and not extravegent or expensive. I wish they had Granimals for adults and I’d be all over that. I wear shoes for comfort. This sprang out of necessity, but I have learned to work my clunky shoes. Finally, I never starve. I think if I tried, not only would I be crabby – never a good thing – my hip bones are too large to look normal in any other body I now own. I like my soft curves – yes, I am sticking with that romantic term. Anyway, I think I have come to realize, a joke, a laugh, a smile, a wink, a kind word and a caring moment are what matter and radiates beauty…handsomeness.
Now, I’m not 100 percent self-confident yet, but boy am I closer. And when I don’t feel it, I fake it. I figure if I pretend long enough, I may actually believe it. And isn’t that nifty at 50?