In My Sixties, Finally Admitting It

The transformation is coming slowly. I care more about comfort than fashion. For example no more high heels when my husband and I go out. I also don’t wear much make up anymore, just a bit of lip gloss and a bit of mascara. I am more content to be at home, puttering around the house, watching movies, caring for the plants, reading, and writing.  My family is important and I realize that my family is what holds life together; our gatherings and times together are priceless and create memories for us all. The years, as they pass, give perspective and I know what things are important, and what things are not worth fretting about.

Self knowledge is the most important aspect that I nurture in this lifetime. Without self respect and self knowledge I have nothing to offer. As a young woman and mother I was in an abusive marriage, battered, both emotionally and physically. I had to, over the years, rebuild my life. I used to question why things were happening to me. The revelation was that I was allowing myself to remain a victim. It was within my power to change.

Age is only a point of reference. Since I have become a grandmother it has taken me awhile to admit my age, unless someone asked me directly I avoided the subject.  I am not sure why. Perhaps we are taught to fear growing older and losing our physical beauty. Now I know it doesn’t matter.  I would hope that those of us who are older have earned some respect simply because we have had life experience. Sadly we are a youth driven culture in this country. So it goes.

I complete my 62^nd year this August. I am a late bloomer, it seems, like it or not it is what it is.  I didn’t find the right man until I was well into my fifties and we have been married for 6 years and counting. I can hardly believe I am in my 60’s. Really, is 60 the new 40?  I am sure I am not the only woman whose reflection in the mirror has astounded her; the face that looks back doesn’t match the inside at all.  I am told I look young for my age. I attribute that to my mother, whose genes I have inherited. She is in her mid 80’s and has just recently begun to gray and she has beautiful skin.  Thanks to Dad I am an early grayer, but thanks to the hair salon and a good hairdresser, no one would know.  I don’t hesitate for a moment to spend money on keeping the gray away. I am not ready yet. My husband is several years younger than me (11 years) so it is mainly for this reason (and my still present vanity) that I strive to appear more youthful. When he begins get gray hair, perhaps I will relax a bit. I am definitely not into Botox or other such nonsense. I believe that a person should age as gracefully as possible and this is one of my goals in life.