Silver lining
Today is a momentous day. First, it's my best friend's birthday. (O Happy Day, Pookie!) Second, our nation's political leaders are narrowly averting financial ruin by passing a marginally acceptable debt package that pleases no one and is likely to hurt many. (Way to go, asshats.) Third, this morning, I spotted my first gray hair. And then my second. And then I made myself stop looking.
I am taking some comfort in the fact that they weren't a dull gray, but that shimmery silver that lends distinguished wisdom and charm to an otherwise youthful appearance.
That's what I'm telling myself, anyway.
M has been sprouting the silver for quite some time now. I think it's been a combination of a stressful career and an elevated amount of estrogen in his domicile. He blames his wife entirely. Funny man.
I have very clear signs that I am, indeed, aging. At least in body (not in spirit!). First, a large container of Benefiber resides on my counter. Second, I seem to be visiting doctors with increasing regularity. The last trip was for episcleritis, which is usually idiopathic and easily cleared up with drops, but c'mon already. Third, my body makes creaking and popping noises during simple, routine maneuvers such as standing up from a seated position.
Not all signs of aging are horrible. I have reached the point in my career where I reap the benefits of being in management. I have figured out, for the most part, who I am and what I like, and am pretty unapologetic about it. M and I have developed a sound fiscal policy for our family that allows us to save for retirement while living a perfectly lovely day-to-day existence where we want for little.
All in all, I'll take the creaking joints and enhanced doctoral relationships and yes, even the silver hair, for the perks that come with increasing age. I've earned each and every one of these years, dammit, and I claim them all proudly.
Although I do reserve the right to color my hair should the silvers turn to true gray and start to make me look like an old bag. A girl has her limits.
I am taking some comfort in the fact that they weren't a dull gray, but that shimmery silver that lends distinguished wisdom and charm to an otherwise youthful appearance.
That's what I'm telling myself, anyway.
M has been sprouting the silver for quite some time now. I think it's been a combination of a stressful career and an elevated amount of estrogen in his domicile. He blames his wife entirely. Funny man.
I have very clear signs that I am, indeed, aging. At least in body (not in spirit!). First, a large container of Benefiber resides on my counter. Second, I seem to be visiting doctors with increasing regularity. The last trip was for episcleritis, which is usually idiopathic and easily cleared up with drops, but c'mon already. Third, my body makes creaking and popping noises during simple, routine maneuvers such as standing up from a seated position.
Not all signs of aging are horrible. I have reached the point in my career where I reap the benefits of being in management. I have figured out, for the most part, who I am and what I like, and am pretty unapologetic about it. M and I have developed a sound fiscal policy for our family that allows us to save for retirement while living a perfectly lovely day-to-day existence where we want for little.
All in all, I'll take the creaking joints and enhanced doctoral relationships and yes, even the silver hair, for the perks that come with increasing age. I've earned each and every one of these years, dammit, and I claim them all proudly.
Although I do reserve the right to color my hair should the silvers turn to true gray and start to make me look like an old bag. A girl has her limits.
Labels: musings
posted by Amy at 7:55 AM
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