Yesterday, I was 26.
Well not really. I haven’t been 26 in… Never mind. That isn’t the point. I think a lot about getting older, especially on people’s birthday.
Today is my husband’s birthday. He’s as funny and handsome as ever. He gets better with age, in every way, though he staunchly disagrees. He was cute in his 20s and good-looking in his 30s. But I think he’s as hot as he’s everbeen. He’s no longer the 20 something year old boy that I fell in love with. Instead, he is truly a man, wiser than ever and comfortable in his own skin, which makes him incredibly attractive.
As I am aging, Mother Nature and I are definitely at odds. I’m wiser, as well. But as for the other stuff.. perhaps it only works for men? After all, I was more comfortable in my skin in my 20s than I am now. But I wonder if it’s the age that really matters, or some mistaken notion of what growing older gracefully really is?
I’ve spent nearly two decades celebrating my husband’s birthday with him. And even that has gone so quickly. My children are no longer babies and my puppy is now an old lady. As for me, I am at a crossroads. Either I can whine about getting older or just accept that my reckless youth is gone. I have this wonderful opportunity to embrace my mistakes and grow from my past. I have now have gift of hindsight, insight, and patience; all of these things missing when I was younger.
But let’s be honest. It can be depressing to get older. The crows feet, the slowing metabolism, and having things that sag that didn’t used to. Some days it just downright sucks. But it happens to all of us, and we have to accept it.
I look at my husband and I’m encouraged. He will always be a couple of years older than I am, but he makes aging look so good. He’s got the levity of a guy have his age, but the wisdom and perspective that only comes from experiencing life.
I think I want to be him when I finally grow up. 64 is just a stones throw away… my boys will be men, possibly with children of their own. And I’ll be much older than I am now. I hope that when I’m 64, that I still think of these years as my youth. I hope that I’m wiser, better, and that I’m no longer grappling with Mother Nature.
I hope that she’s been kind to me and that I’ve accepted her. And I hope that by then I’ve adapted a little of my husband’s hotness, as well as his levity, when I’m 64.