Not so long ago, the age I am now seemed impossibly old. But I don’t feel old. I refuse to join the AARP – not yet. Still, I have to face it – I am aging – and mostly, it’s okay.
My gray hair doesn’t bother me much and is easy to camouflage; a bout of vanity hits every six months or so and I get highlights. Although the occasional joint gets achey, especially my hips, and sometimes my back threatens to act up, but I blame that on too much sitting at work. Immediately reviving my erratic yoga practice gets me back to normal. I’m pretty fit and my weight is good. I’ve cut way back on how many glasses of wine I imbibe and I mostly get enough sleep. But look what I discovered last week —
This is my mouth in repose. Okay, the jowly bits are an unfortunate family trait, but I’ve already had a few decades to get used to them. The pinched look of my lips isn’t the worst of it, although it is as if my flesh is drawing inwards to better secure my teeth (getting long) in my mouth. The general slackness of my skin is also not very attractive, but still, that’s not what disturbs me.
What upsets me is that when I am in thought, just going about my day, walking down the street, driving my car, RIGHT NOW, my mouth settles into a doleful expression. Look! In a few more years, mine will look like a marionette’s mouth, with lines creeping down along either side of my chin. How did this happen? In spite of quite a few years of incredible stress and sadness, I am a happy person. And yet, there it is: when I am in an unselfconscious state, mine is a sad face.
I suspect the state of my mouth disturbs me more because it reminds me of my mother’s. From a way-too-early age, my mother internalized and defined herself by unhappiness. She certainly had her own, but she also glommed onto other’s losses and betrayals, almost taking pleasure in co-opting their tragedies as her own to grieve, to tell. My mother died at 64. That’s only 10 year more years for me. I am determined to keep smiling through whatever I have left.
So if you see me with a foolish grin on my face, I may be thinking of something funny or I might just be doing mouth calisthenics. I want my face to reflect my joy and damn gravity!
Yes! Keep smiling. Your smile just reminds the rest of us to do the same and I can kiss my little wrinkles goodbye.
I really like that ‘glommed onto other peoples losses’ not sure what glommed is but it sounds good and made me smile. You are brave, you wouldn’t catch me with a camera that close to my face! Sounds like you’ve been through a rough trot. I think everyones face in repose is weird and out of keeping with their true character. I resemble a cross rodent.
Actually your post has got me thinking a bit. Now I’m checking peoples faces! Another blog I’m following posted a video about an Italian artist. His face is serious and sad and I think that’s ok. His work has the same quality, I think there’s a place for it all, we don’t have to be smiling all the time….apart from now 🙂 !
http://blog.rowleygallery.co.uk/the-trees-of-aldgate/
I agree. I just don’t like sadness being etched into my face. Gravity is strong though! (and perhaps, psychic wounds)
Loved your last post and will get back over soon to comment. Felt like I was on that walk with you through your wood.