I am perfectly fine now, but I had a really interesting experience in May that I’m ready to share with you. Read More
People have been saying for weeks, “You’re so lucky!” They keep telling me how they wish they could do this… be so free. But, what is freedom, really? Read More
We have changed our travel plans and will now be in Austin until September. I want to be close to my son who has MS, and is going through some changes. Read More
It’s been raining cats and dogs, accompanied by thunderbolts and lightning. Although it’s just past breakfast-time it’s as dark as night and the volume is MUCH louder in our motorhome than in a traditionally built home. Read More
Looking out at the lake, I see my reflection in the window as I write… and to quote my dear departed friend, Nancy, “I look like the wrath of God!”
Even though I took the time to blow my hair dry this morning, the winds have been blowing steadily at 20+ mph, something no amount of styling product can endure.
I’ve been toying with the idea of having some work done on my face. Nothing drastic, just a little filler, since slender oval-shaped faces with sensitive skin don’t age as gracefully as round, or square, faces with an oilier complexion.
When my clients used to look at themselves in the mirror and complain about their fat faces I always told them, “Hush. You’ll really appreciate this in your sixties.” As we age we lose the fullness from underlying fat, in our face. We also experience bone shrinkage… making a thin face even thinner. Add this to that the fact that I’ve been on medications for 20 years now, and you see why I’ve been considering options.
One reason I haven’t done anything so far, is my fear of looking like a Picasso painting as punishment for being vain.
Mostly it’s my fear of not getting wonderful results because of the aforementioned meds. Or of ending up looking like Melanie Griffith.
My first thought was, “Poor thing… didn’t she have any girlfriends to tell her when enough was enough?” On the one hand, there’s the notion of loving someone enough to tell them the truth as you see it. But, on the other, there’s always the risk of losing a friendship, or alienating someone you care about.
I’ve always admired movies or books about women’s relationships where they can tell each other anything-and-everything and it’s heard, and they are still best friends. Like the Nextflix show Frankie & Grace. I come from a long line of women who were taught to keep secrets, and to hold our tongue. “Don’t say anything, we don’t want [the others] to worry.” Or, “Don’t tell so-and-so we were talking about this because she’d kill me.” So, I don’t say lots of things when I feel like something ought to be said because I worry about hurt feelings, about confrontation, and even the fear that my words won’t make a difference after all.
Is this a Universal Truth? Is it attributable to being a women of this age? Or is it just familial dysfunction, what do you think?
Regarding all of this, there is a quote I love that has been attributed to everyone from Socrates to the Buddha, listing four things to consider before speaking your mind:
- Is this true?
- Is this necessary?
- Is this kind?
- Does it need to be said by me?
Notice how when you begin to think about, or buy, a new car suddenly they are everywhere? I decided to grow out my hair to it’s natural color, whatever that was, a few months ago. Now that it’s grown out, and it’s grey, I’m checking out all of the other women close to my age sporting grey hair. Appropriate word… because some women really do “sport it” by wearing bold colors and jewelry, and makeup that highlights their eyes and lips. I admired lots of these women in Santa Fe, whether their hair was long or short.
In the ”hippy-ish” towns of Silver City and Bisbee I saw women who embraced their silver strands as just a natural part of growing older. I saw everything from short shocky haircuts, to gleaming streaming flaxen hair with rainbow-bright streaks atop gorgeous global, open-hearted, chakra-balancing, essentially-oiled, inner-peace clothes.
Both groups felt like women who loved the power of being women, and wore their crowning glory atop faces that radiated lives being well-lived.
That’s what I want, although right now it’s in that Ugly Duckling stage between a pixie and something else. And without color it’s as fine as frog-fur, but with my experience I’m certain I can come up with something I’ll grow to love.
The last group I noticed was all the women who had become pale water-colors. Pale hair, pale skin, fading eyebrows, dressing in pastels and beiges. We ate lunch in Las Cruces one afternoon and the restaurant was full of women my age and older, and all but one seemed content to have grown invisible. I wondered when their fire went out? Why?
My conclusion: no matter your age, grey hair in and of itself, doesn’t make us look old. What’s going on in our mind about who we are, and what our worth is, those make a woman look old. My solution: the same things I discussed in my book, “Sick and Tired… & Sexy, Living Beautifully with Chronic Illness,” about taking care of yourself first.
Make the time to do a quick 5-step make-up; tinted moisturizer, fill-in your brows, mascara, a touch of cream blush and a swipe of lipstick. Wear colorful clothes, they lift your energy. And jewelry. Have a good haircut that is appropriate for your hair, face shape, your ability to style it, and your figure.
To steal a line from a men’s clothier – “You’re gonna love the way you look!”