You thought I was going to blog about resolutions and newness and what not, didn’t you? Me too. That post is still percolating. In the meantime, let’s talk about getting older.
Being middle aged has always appealed to me. It’s been something I’ve looked forward to since I was 14 going on 40 (not to be confused with that delightful Jennifer Garner/Mark Ruffalo movie, 13 Going On 30).
When you’re middle aged, your kids (if you have them) are (presumably) getting older and (hopefully) more independent.
When you’re middle aged, your career (if you have one) is well established and retirement is on the horizon.
When you’re middle aged, you know yourself. You accept yourself. This knowledge and acceptance lovingly bleeds out in the directions of other people in your life.
Yes, I realize these theories can be proven false. I also realize that Bruce Wayne doesn’t really exist, but that doesn’t stop me from daydreaming.
When it comes to aging, I always hoped I would enter my silver years looking like Sophia Loren or Ellen Burstyn. Unfortunately, I’ve haven’t resembled either one of those gorgeous ladies at any point in my life, so odds of me turning out like either one of them are pretty slim.
This preamble is leading up to one catastrophic event in my life. Brace yourselves, kittens, for this is a harrowing tale. It is a tale of the morning I awoke and discovered that I am developing jowls.
Of course my body is changing as I age. I’m not an idiot. I expected this. I anticipated some grey hairs, some fine lines and wrinkles. I expected gravity to have an effect on my breasts…but my jawline? Oh, jawline, I expected more from you.
This morning as I was lamenting the jowls that have RSVP’d to an obviously forged invitation to my face, it occurred to me that I was approaching this aging thing all wrong. Instead of fixating on the genetics of movie stars I cannot duplicate (not without a lab, some scientists, and maybe a good plastic surgeon), I should focus on who I can be as I climb up and over that hill.
Here are some women I admire with qualities I would like to emulate. Some of them are a little farther along the path up that hill, others are way ahead. I like to think of them as my fairy godmothers, granting me wishes. This is what I would want from each of them.
Here is a woman with vision. She’s a UN Messenger of Peace, for crying out loud. She’s also someone who can run circles around Jon Stewart during an interview.
May Fairy Godmother Goodall grant me wisdom as I age.
She’s broken all kinds of barriers to become a showrunner extraordinaire. Her hit shows include kickass roles for women and layered LGBT characters. Her casts are amongst the most diverse on television. All hail Shonda Rhimes.
May Fairy Godmother Rhimes grant me strength and success as I age.
Whether or not you’re a fan of her writing, it’s difficult not to be a fan of hers. I love you, J.K. Rowling. I love you for the characters you’ve introduced into our lives and the knowledge you’ve bestowed on us in and out of Hogwarts.
May Fairy Godmother Rowling grant me creativity and perseverance as I age.
I remember watching Fame when televisions were deeper than they were tall. Oh, how I wanted to attend the Fame school. I’ve enjoyed her on SYTYCD and back when I was still emotionally invested in Grey’s Anatomy. What I really love about Debbie Allen is how she owns her beauty and her sexuality.
May Fairy Godmother Allen grant me confidence as I age.
Don’t try to tell me Betty White’s moment is over. She’s the Comeback Ki—Senior. Go ahead and bite your tongue before those words escape your mouth. We should all be so lucky as to age like Betty.
May Fairy Godmother White grant me charm as I age.
With these qualities, who cares about those pesky jowls forming at my jawline? Well….still me, but I’m caring a little less.