Facing Up to the Truth
This just in, from CBS: According to two recent separate studies, plastic surgery can improve your mood.
Ya gotta love America: one war we are determined to win, at all costs, is the one against aging.
We can analyze, scrutinize, and commiserate this fact of life. We can fake it out with potions, tucks and the trendy fashions that are intended for Generation Other. Or we can graciously accept it, let this wave of life wash over us, but not let it drown us with thoughts of what once was and can no longer be.
The thought of aging hits every woman over 35 (or 25, if you live in L.A.) in the hardest way. Old wasn’t supposed to be for us. It is for our parents’ generation, although they deny it, too. My mother, for example, approached her golden years with grave trepidation. While in her mid-40s, she proclaimed she would never make it beyond her 50th year.
We are not clairvoyant in my family: she passed just six months after her 77th birthday.
Old is a relative term. Only when I can no longer do ten-mile hikes around Mt. Tam every weekend, or ride my bike without cracking a rib, will I let them call me old. But first they’ll have to pry me off the handlebars.
Or take away my tennis shoes.
Facing Up to Reality,