The wrinkly old broad looking back at me in the mirror is just as shocked as I am.
When did my hair get so grey (and in need -- SERIOUS need -- of a re-dye)? When did my lips thin out (I am WAY too good at doing my mother's "disapproval" mouth now). When did the old lady hands graft themselves onto my arms? My hips? Larger than life now. My ass? Larger than my hips. My boobs? Heading south --- they might need a new zip code now. My nose hair is longer, and my patience is shorter. I have AGE SPOTS. FREAKING AGE SPOTS. More than one. SEVERAL more than one. And big enough that I just CANNOT keep convincing myself it is an overachieving freckle. My arms stop waving a good minute after I do. My knees have smile lines. Even my EARLOBES have aged.
Where did my young self go?
Yesterday, I was a vibrant working professional. The day before, mother of a toddler. I cannot be the mother of a 30-year old and a 17-year old. Seems like just last week I was sipping cocktails with the Chicas, not Metamucil with the Hubs. I was dancing with abandon, not walking with care.
I do not WANT to walk with care. There is VERY LITTLE I want to do with care.
There is a WHOLE FREAKING LOT I want -- NEED -- to do without a care.
I feel like my true self has been reduced to a small flicker, deep inside. I feel hollow and cold. I want to feel purposeful and alive. Warm. I want warm. Heck, I want FIRE.
I need to find some intrepid souls that want to adventure with me. Uncharted territory. Beyond age and expectations. Just donning a red hat and wearing purple will not be enough. This needs to be a soul-changing journey. This is not a vain striving for lost youth -- is is a life-saving reclamation of the girl in my soul. She needs life (and a cookie, and a drink, and some great shoes, and friends, and sun, and ADVENTURE).
I know the starting point, and I can envision the ending point. I just am struggling with the middle and the steps to get going. Today's goal/assignment: I am going to buy some "Mom, that is REALLY not you" nail polish at lunch today, and I am going to sport it on my fingers and toes. A color that makes me happy, something that will make me feel like "me" as I watch my hands and feet go about their tasks. A little something to give me a secret smile. Baby steps, but that is all I know to do right now.
I am working up the courage to deal with the hair. I have been traumatized from coloring it since being told (helpfully?) that the hair color I was considering was "Menopause Red -- that last desperate gasp of youth for women". THAT day, I opted for "aging mom brown", instead of the color I wanted. My reflection made me feel faded and sad for weeks. I want to look in the mirror and see "me", and the "me" I have in my head does not have inches of grey and faded brown. The "me" I see in my head is vibrant and fun, and I want my head visually to match. I really WANT a bold, over-the-top, sassy, in-your-face red.
Someone may have to hold my hand for that, though.
