It’s hard not to compare yourself to celebrities in tabloid magazines when they say the new 40 is 20, the new 50 is 30, because they always look good, with a lot of help.
Most folks living the glossy, good life might have had something lifted, tucked or lipo’d … airbrushed, bronzed, or botoxed, I would guess. Or at the very least, have starved to get where they want to be.
It takes a lot to look like you have fallen into the eternal fountain of youth. Like personal trainers, chefs, nannies, gurus, herbalists, psychics, and life coaches.
The rest of us have to find those things in each other, as we age.
I’ve never really had a crisis getting older … 20 was OK, but not great. I got my first newspaper job at 28. Maybe a little angst before 30, but I got around that by telling everyone I already was 30 for several years.
I was also 30 when my husband and stepdaughter came into my life, 32 when I had my first child, 33 and 34 when I lost pregnancies, and 37 for the miracle birth doctors thought might never happen just shortly after my dad’s death, (when I was 36.)
… 41 was pretty good, the year I tracked down a long-lost, high-school friend. I moved back to Massachusetts when I was 47 and had two good years with my mom before she died. But when it comes down to it, I really liked 49. I think it was the pivotal year where I started to became the older, and hopefully, wiser me.
There was no sleight of hand involved, and certainly no starving. I’m not one of the beautiful people but I feel good about myself. In the last year, I’ve had some memorable success, some happy times, and some enlightenment to help guide the rest of my days.
So for me, I guess 50 is the new 49, without botox, a boob job, or the air brush … I’m hoping this year will be as good, or better, provide similar blessings, and be a lot of fun. And as the years tick on, I can only hope for more of the same.