The newness of getting old

The first time it happened was in the middle of last year.

I was putting on my mascara (ginger eyelash ladies unite!), so naturally I was trying to get so close to the mirror as to be literally INSIDE my reflection. Then I pulled back and smiled.

And there they were. My eye wrinkles. 

My first thought was

Oh, YAY!

... followed quickly by my second thought, which was

Oh, shit.

I returned to my first emotion. Admiration. Pride. And a little bit of wonder, honestly. Because it’s starting. These tiny lines frame my eyes where my smile rests, and where my smile rests is home. 

As I age, I know I’ll have some pretty impressive crow’s feet — and I’ve always loved crow’s feet. They are my favorite lines to notice in the faces of others. It’s like I can see the evolution of every genuine flood of joy, every shrewd gaze, every long contemplation, every belly-deep guffaw, every squint into comprehension… every time they forgot their sunglasses…

And I know I’ll have some deep smile lines. From each true, sprawling beam to my crooked, sarcastic smirks, the valleys of my laughs form deeply and irrevocably. 

But where I pause, where I am torn…. are my forehead lines. And as much as I accept and even welcome the aging process, I am struggling against the tide of what I do actually care about and what society tells me to care about.

So as I type this with a furrowed brow — because of course it is — allow me to dive deep into my Forehead Wrinkle Conundrum.

Is it just me or… is botox on the rise? 

I’m fascinated. There are two distinct possibilities here. Either 1. I just started noticing this because now I am of the age where that’s a given part of the beauty regimen whereas before I didn’t realize and (even better) give a shit, or 2. there is indeed an increase in botox consumerism. 

Honestly, it never struck me until I was at a work event. There I was in a sea of women all 30 to 40-something, and it suddenly dawned on me that I was in fact the only one with forehead lines. Or any other lines. Anywhere. At all.

And abruptly… I began to care. And compare myself. And worry (...which, I don’t know if you know this or not, but worrying isn’t exactly the greatest thing for preventing or reducing forehead lines).

After that, I went home and looked at myself in the mirror. 

They’re crevices. My forehead wrinkles. There’s just no other way to describe them. They are tourist-destination-level channels carved deeply above my brows. And if you’re not careful, you will fall in them, plummeting into the abyss. But – just like on Mount Everest – it will be too dangerous for the rescue crews to retrieve your remains, so we’ll just have to leave you there. You’ll become a mile-marker, a cautionary tale for all the other Lauren Forehead Hikers. Mind your footing above the left eye, or you’ll end up like ole Orange-and-Blue-Boots over there. That’s where we lost the last few. Memorial service is on Thursday. 

My forehead wrinkles mocked me. But even worse, I’d go out in public and inadvertently study other women’s foreheads. Not like in a judgey let-me-check-out-your-wrinkles way, but just noticing, because I just never had thought about it before. I never knew it was something I should think about. Now, I could suddenly tell which women did have botox foreheads and which did not. 

And I didn’t like that. I didn’t like that one bit.

The war against aging…. or the war against anti-aging? 

Despite the fact I can’t stick to a skin care routine to save my life, I called my mom and asked her to order me the Mac Daddy Anti-Aging Skin Care Regimen she sells. 

I do try my best to use it as regularly as I can, but it’s still not an everyday thing for me. Things like brushing my teeth? Absolutely. Deodorant? Without a doubt. But a hydra mask and eye cream? … only if I remember, and only if I have the discipline to actually do it. 

So here it is: I’ve thought about botox, but… I can’t. I just can’t. 

Look, I hated dying my hair because of the maintenance involved. I hate essentially anything that requires constant upkeep (other than self care and mental health maintenance, which is absolutely essential). Aesthetic maintenance? Gross. If it requires me to go back in 6 weeks or a couple of months for another round, hard pass.

I could tell you it’s because “I don’t want to put chemicals in my body and I’m au natural” but that would be talking out of both sides of my mouth. As free-spirit-boho as I am, I do get vaccinated, take prescription medication, supplements, etc. I like natural home remedies and love supporting local herbalists (there are some locally-made pain relievers I highly recommend, b-t-dubs). I swear by chiropractic care and think yoga is a lifesaver. But where the thought of something like an IUD makes me want to curl up and die,  I have zero qualms about taking other meds to achieve the same goal.

And honestly… I’m afraid. Not of needles, but of seeing the results and liking them. Of wanting to keep that up, and then feeling like a slave to my regularly-scheduled-time-reversal regimens.

But overall — I just don’t want to open myself up to the possibility of not being happy with who I am without any add-ons. As a woman, the world already forces its opinion on me constantly. It tells me I should use this and inject that, and try this and drink that, and apply this daily and not wear that, and, and, and… 

Frankly, the world can shut the fuck up. 

You do you.

At the end of the day, we just need to fiercely own whatever the hell it is we want to do. And do it, unapologetically.

There is no right or wrong way to do this whole aging thing, and we are allllll going to end up at the end one day, regardless. So why worry so much about what naturally happens on the way there?

You’re going to wrinkle. You’re going to sag. Your skin is going to change, lose elasticity, grow weird things in strange places, get patchy or flaky, stretchy and flabby. It’s just going to happen. Bodies are weird. They are beautiful and miraculous but let’s face it. Our bodies are weird AF. And that’s not only normal… it’s the way it’s supposed to be.

Ultimately, do whatever the hell it is that makes you happy and confident. If you want to get botox, get botox. If you want to dye your hair, dye your hair. If you want to get plastic surgery, go for it. If you want to go gray, do it. If you want to contour your makeup, have at it. If you want laser hair removal, adios, follicles. 

Just do what makes you happy. And for the love of all things, don’t compare yourself to others… or others to yourself. Everyone is unique and deserves to be happy, healthy, confident in themselves, and in the world surrounding us. We all have the right to this beautiful joy life brings.

As for me? I will curl up lovingly in the warm rumples of my surprises, my forgone worries, my consternations and woes, folded like love letters and tucked away in some sweet, safe place I keep within reach throughout the years – universe willing – to come.

After all… it’s just time.