My brother’s voice was echoing against my bathroom walls through my speakerphone. As I sat in front of the mirror tweezing the unwanted hairs off my face, he is giving me a quick rundown of his most recent estate sale finds. I noticed something; Am I getting wrinkles?
I zoned out briefly and gave him the quick, “uh huh…” to let him know I was still attempting to listen. I am turning 30 this year, is it a damn right of passage or something?! I must have checked out longer than I thought because I heard…
Silently staring at myself in the mirror, rather than give him my thoughts on his purchase (that I clearly had no clue what it even was) I blurt out, I have wrinkles,.with true desperation in my voice.
I felt so flustered by these lines that protrude out past my eyes when I smile, grimace, squint – I’m pretty sure I saw every single face I am capable of creating that morning as I searched for other dreaded signs of getting old. I found some on my forehead also. Should I be making a direct run to Target to pick up some of that wrinkle cream Ellen endorses?
Thankfully, my meltdown was brief and it had an unexpected outcome. While I combed through my hair to see if I could spot any gray, I gave myself a mental slap in the face.
PULL IT TOGETHER, JEN! YOU’RE NOT OLD!
And I went about my day.
As morning turned into afternoon, I refused to think about the issue I had earlier, finally that evening I confronted it. Who cares if my face is showing a few small signs of aging? It’s supposed to. Hell, it’s totally natural. If what they say is true, you’re only as old as you feel, I should be content with where I’m at. If my now brain was able to channel how I was feeling at 22 years old – I wonder how old I actually felt. It has to be older than I feel in the present.
Happiness can shed years off your age. Age isn’t defined by a number (unless you’re a minor…) or the wrinkles on your face.