No Retouch Photo – Read Between the Lines

Good Bye, 39

“We are always the same age inside.” ~ Gertrude Stein

I’ve only said it one hundred times - I’ll be forty in June.  Yah, yah… blah blah, Kim.
Forty. 40. 4-0. The cake with the graveyard on it. 
I am struggling a little with the number. (substitute 47 or 51 or 60)

“The really frightening thing about middle age is the knowledge that you’ll grow out of it.” ~ Doris Day

My husband doesn’t really get it; my struggle to make peace with being 40 in miles and 29 in my head. He says I am way too hard on myself. Truthfully, if I bring it up, he fluctuates between laughing at me and shaking his head at me.

There’s no easy way to say this without sounding vain or loathesome.
But usually I feel better about myself when I don’t spend a whole lot of time in front of the mirror.

Back in February, my friend Adrienne took some pictures of me for a new package I want to put together. A few days ago, she gave me a CD that had numerous pictures for me to view and choose from. I know she wanted me to call her excitedly and gush about how happy I was with the pictures. And I was very pleased. She is a talented photographer who had specific instructions to leave some of the photos completely raw (no retouching allowed for this real woman, or at least minimal).

And so what I received was me – untouched, under flash. As is.
And it was hard to get past the lines. At first.
I wanted to gush for her. You’re amazing, Adrienne.
But I got hung up on – Wow, look at the lines in my face.

It must be years of staring into the pages of fashion and celebrity magazines that have tainted my vision of what a beautiful woman looks like. I don’t judge others like I judge myself. In fact, the opposite. I find it validating to be around women my age and older. I feel sickly justified when I see a hint of turkey waddle on the neck of someone I know. Or lines around the eyes. Or the familiar lumpy texture of cellulite in the back of their pants.

Whew. It’s normal. I’m normal.

What does forty mean to me?
Well, my dad died only two months after turning 42.
My sister is now 43. 
My friends are now 43, 46, 47, 49, 51, 60…
What the…??!!  When did this happen? And where was I?

  “I’m not interested in age. People who tell me their age are silly. You’re as old as you feel.” ~ Elizabeth Arden

It’s just a number, Kim.

My friends are among the most motivated and accomplished women in their communities. They are active, healthy, productive – business owners, councillors, board members – mothers, wives, grandmothers – and volunteers, advocates and leaders.

“Women grow radical with age. One day an army of gray-haired women may quietly take over the earth.” ~ Gloria Steinem

I do feel strong. Capable. Healthy. Purposeful.
My husband and I are in love and lovers. Playful and connected.
But there are times when I see a photo of myself, and I think, how can he love all those “imperfections”?
And how did I suddenly become ‘mature.’

And I’m not the only woman who think it. After all, chemical peels and botox are not exclusive treatments. Collagen injections and laser therapy are on the menu next to manicure and pedicure at the hair salon. Your GP might even be able to administer it for you. There is a gazillion dollar cosmetic surgery business that confirms my internal battle.

It’s craziness. Sean Connery, Mel Gibson, Paul Newman, Robert Redford, Liam Neeson.
Men adored for their rugged well-lived rough edges.

Demi Moore, Madonna, Barbara Walters, Joan Rivers, Cortney Cox… keep writing….
Women recognized for their beauty or power or infamy.
Such pressure to remain youthful. Attractive. Beautiful. Wrinkle free.
No wonder we can’t escape. No wonder we beat ourselves down.

But I am determined to overcome my vanity.
Why?  Because there is more to me than skin. 

I am not the package. I am inside.

“This is what 40 looks like. We’ve been lying so long, who would know?” ~ Gloria Steinem

I don’t want to waste another second examining the fine lines around my eyes or hating the dimples on my heiny. My body has been a gift to me in this life. It has been faithful to me – it does what I ask of it. Walk here, carry this. Birth the baby, hold the baby. Love the man. Reach out. Lend a hand. Work and play.

And my face tells the story of where I’ve come from
and come through.
In it’s lines, the story of my life is told.

To 10, a barefoot prairie girl
As a teen, full of dreams and invincibility
My 20’s, lost and self-destructive
And through my 30’s, married and motherly…

I wouldn’t erase a second of this life. 
And I have big plans for my forties.
Possibility. Potential. Passion. Purpose.

Good-bye 39. I am leaving you behind with the rest of my thirties,
stuck to the unattainable beauty expectations I’ve held onto
and the illusion that in order to love myself – and be loved – I must look better, younger, different than I do. 

Hello, 40.