“The Middle Years”
These days I feel a little as if I’m grieving for a younger me. I look in the mirror, and I contend with the greying hair and the imperfections that come with age, always shocked to remember that my neckline sags in the way of grandmothers and old great aunts. I have come to middle age, and I must say that it’s a difficult stop on this journey of being a woman. I’m not quite old enough to have earned the bags under my eyes or the ways that a red-head’s delicate porcelain skin seems prematurely worn; nor am I young enough to be roundcheeked and metabolically balanced. I’m in the no-man’s land of aging. The middle years, where any guess about my age is likely to be wrong one way or the other, depending on ridiculous things like how much water I’ve been drinking or how much I spent on my current anti-aging moisturizer.
