Today I am incredibly aware of the way age is invading my body — the crows feet around my eyes, the smile lines at the corners of my mouth, the loosening of my skin around my neck and jowls, the wrinkles on my hands, the Botticelli curves — and I’m oddly at peace with it.
When did this happen? This learning to be cool with being in my 50s?
It scared the hell out of me for so long, and yet when I look in the mirror I see every story that I’ve lived written all over my face, and I love it.
When did we buy into the script that getting older — looking older — is less? I’m tossing it out. It’s crap.
I’ve never been happier in my life.
Old chicks rock!