Adult Face

In my make-up mirror I see what my father calls “my adult face.”  I am trying out contacts for the first time, at 48, and I hadn’t realized how used to hiding behind my glasses I had become–the glasses like a defense, a veil to hide my aging self.  “I will have to buy better wrinkle cream,” I lamented to my father.  He laughed and like a good dad said, “You grow more beautiful with time,” but then reminded me that we all have two faces: our youthful face and our adult face.  I suppose instead of mourning over the loss of my youthful face, I should embrace this new face, this strange new person in the mirror who is ready to come out from hiding and show herself to the world.  It is a brave thing, this aging.  Last night, at Whole Foods in Annapolis, I overheard two older, flawless-looking women talking about their latest plastic surgery.  I thought about the enormous time and energy and money they must spend fending off the inevitable; and I felt a bit sorry for them, as they will surely spend the rest of their days never knowing their adult face, never seeing beyond the defense, never truly opening their eyes and accepting the beauty, the inner transformation of age.

Note to self:  don’t for a minute think you wouldn’t get Botox if you could afford it.  But, for now, chill out, and maybe those lines will smooth away. . . Breathe deep, ommm, breathe deep .  . .