I went to the spa in December and got a facial. I got, along with the facial, a lecture that the skin around my eyes is overly dry and I will get more wrinkles.
I am getting older, not anywhere approaching what could be old (whatever the definition of old is these days). I am getting older. I have had grey hairs since 16, but in the last year I have had five or six hairs over my forehead that stay silvery white, even when my hair is coloured. (I have named them for the co-workers that caused them).
I went to my GP for an annual check up and he decided to check and see if I was heading into menopause. ( I am hopeful!)
I keep thinking about these things, realizing that I am getting older. Don’t misunderstand, I am not having a huge crises, but I guess I realized that if I live to be 99, I have lived one third of my life.
I’m not quite sure what to do about it. I mean, I could buy an eye cream. I guess I could go to wherever one goes and find one, and put it on every night.
I find myself a bit resentful. Resentful that I am going to have add in the step of “put on eye cream” each night. Resentful that I might become that woman, the one who has an entire “beauty routine” as opposed to what I have always called “wash face, clean teeth, go to bed.”
If I try to break it down, it’s a lot of things. Most of it is what I guess you could call the adjustment. In my heart of heart’s, I haven’t aged. I felt like I was in my late twenties in university, and I still feel like I’m in my late twenties now.
Except that I (and the skin around my eyes) are in my thirties. Heading comfortably to my mid thirties. And that brings changes – to my body, to my life, to my outlook.
And I’m not sure what I want to do about that. I can’t ignore it – time is passing. I’d like to spend my time wisely. So here I am, thinking about age and what I want to do with my life, all because I have some wrinkles around my eyes.
It’s a strange feeling this.