I have become fascinated with my own aging.
Is that considered narcissistic?
I revel in the little silver grey hairs that add sparkle to the part in my hair.
The laugh lines forming around my lips and the crinkles that explode when I smile so hard that my cheeks hurt.
My body is not youthful.
Stretch marks, a ‘mummy tummy’, cellulite, a c-section scar, not-so-plump breasts…
It all tells a story. All of it is a part of my life and a part of me.
Sometimes I’ll look in the mirror and notice the changes in my body.
When did that happen?
It’s all changing, all the time, and it makes me smile.
It makes me hopeful that all this change can make me a better person. That I can learn from everything that I’ve done and everything that I’ve lived through. That things will get better (and worse and better again).
That I can be happy despite and because of everything that I’ve gone through.
I see the beauty in aging.