So last week I got my face lasered off.
Okay, it wasn’t that dramatic. I just had some spots removed. Those dreaded sun freckles that emerge in your 40s and 50s to remind you of all those carefree days you spent roasting in the sun sans sunscreen. Your skin remembers your transgressions.
On top of that, a couple of years ago I had a few of these seemingly harmless spots turn precancerous, so vanity aside, it was time to banish these spots back from whence they came. Getting a potentially life-threatening menace removed from my face is as far as I’m willing to go into the world of plastic surgery (Ha, I say that now).
In addition to these sun freckles, I of course also have some pesky wrinkles that I wish weren’t there. I am 51 years old after all. But at 51 shouldn’t a person have wrinkles? I think it would actually be weirder if I didn’t.
But I get it. No one wants to look old, wants to admit that they ain’t no spring chicken anymore. Besides wishing you looked more like your younger, fresh-faced, bouncy-skinned self, it’s jarring to see your own mortality manifesting itself right before your very eyes.
I’ve been in an existential crisis since I was 11 years old, so for me this is nothing new. Now it’s just more “in your face” or more precisely, on my face.
Existential dread and creaking joints aside, why is getting older so painful?
Wrinkles and sun spots aren’t just reminders that we should have listened to reason and used more sunscreen. They’re etchings of our existence; outright manifestations of how much time has passed.
What have you done with the time you’ve had? What kind of person have you been?
What kind of person will you be with the time you have left?
All thoughts in my head deeper than any wrinkle could be.
Have I been a good enough person so far? I like to hope so, though I do have some titanic-sized regrets.
The movie Titanic was on the other day (isn’t it always on it seems?) The part that really gets me is that only one lifeboat went back to try and save the people in the water. One. WTF? How could those people on all those other lifeboats live with themselves knowing they didn’t go back and try to save anyone else?
Photo by Gerd Altmann on Pixabay
That’s a huge weight to carry with you for the rest of your life.
The weight of regret, creased all over our faces.
But wrinkles can also be badges of honor. Life lines of all that you’ve experienced, all that you’ve endured, all that you’ve triumphed over.
I remember one time an elderly customer came into my work for her 90th birthday and told me “a lot of people don’t get the privilege of living this long.” That lady was wise as shit.
A friend had also told me once that he liked smile lines on people. He said, “they show that person laughs a lot.” Can’t argue with that.
Getting older is a bitch. Whenever someone says to me “don’t get old” I always say, “I’m trying not to.”
But time stops for no one.
Photo by Nathan Dumlao on Unsplash
That we can’t control. But we can control our appreciation of the time we have.
I’m thankful I’ve made it though 51 years so far. Some people never even get the chance to see any wrinkles at all. I’ve lived a lot of life, lost a lot, seen a lot of shit and experienced things I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy. That shit shows.
But I’ve also lived with a lot of love, blessings and experiences that I’ll cherish forever.
I’m grateful for all of it, the good and the bad.
So if getting older is getting you down, lay down the retinol cream for a minute, stop and be proud of all that you’ve done, all that you are, and all that you will be.
Our friend Lord Alfred Tennyson said, “‘tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all”.
I say “tis better to have lived long and be wrinkly.”
❤️
CM
