Sometimes I wonder who's life this is, really. Is it my life? Am I in charge of so many blogs? Am I a published writer? What is a co-founder, anyway?
Am I approaching the tender age of 61, already? Is this me... or, someone else?
One should know the answers to those questions, I suppose. One should be able to look in the mirror and recognize the face there. But, one doesn't. At least, not all the time.
The face in the mirror resembles... someone else. She looks remarkably like my mother, one day; like my sister, the next; and once in awhile, she bears a small resemblance to my dad. We're all in there, gazing at the wrinkles that crinkle my eyes; scrutinizing the age spots (brought on by too much sun when I was young, perhaps?); wondering why my eyes are sunken in my skull these days. Sigh.
I don't agonize over what I look like. Don't get me wrong. I accept the aging process - although, I slather face cream on several times a day, hoping to stave off the majority of aging issues for as long as possible. What I wonder about most is - who is this woman? I mean, if she's ME, why doesn't she look like me?
The me I think I am is still in her 30s. She's not the slim girl of 30 she used to be, she's a bit heavier, and I'm working on that, but she still views the world with the focus of a young woman exploring her options in life. The me I am is comfortable around young woman - my daughters' ages, or a little older. The me I am is not the aging Diva so many probably see when they look at her.
There are times when the face in the mirror reflects a long, tiring day, and I must face the age factor. I am not 40 anymore. I am headed into my senior years. I both embrace the concept and rebel against it. I think of 'senior years' as a time or relaxation. A time when I can look back on accomplishments and bask in them. A time when I can appreciate the trials and tribulations and feel proud I made it through them. A time when I can move forward into new ventures with confidence and pride.
Then, I feel rebellious. I feel as if the world has stolen time from me. I feel as if my 'age' dictates my being - because society is so youth-conscious. I feel as if I need to thow off the shackles of time and shout at fate - "You will not win!" I feel... cheated and I don't mean to take it lying down.
The face in the mirror reflects a woman who wishes she'd done some things differently; that she'd known back 'then' the power she had; that she took too long to come to this place of acceptance. And, the next day, it reflects a woman who is glad she is where she is; glad she has created opportunity where some thought there was none; that she has shrugged off the heavy cloak of yesterday and donned the rose-petal soft blouse of today - because, in the end, today is all that matters.