Becoming Real

 

It happens in what feels like the blink, er twitch, of an eye.

• You look down at your hands and you see the raised veins and thickening knuckles and think, “WHOSE hands are these anyway?”
• You look in the mirror, not just at your hair and the threads (or more!) of gray, but at your whole face, for the first time in a VERY LONG TIME, and see the deep furrow lines between your brows or the fine lines around your eyes and you wonder, “When did THAT happen?”
• You are driving along, and you notice your son looking you over. You think he might be admiring your "youthful" profile . . . until he asks, “Mom, what are all those little lines above your top lip?” SH**! And I never even smoked!  Where, or where, did those lines come from?
• Or, how about this? Your mom says, “Honey, I bought you a present - I thought it might be something you could use,” and hands you a 10X magnifying mirror . . . for Valentine’s Day, no less!

Here it all is, people, unbidden and well earned. The telltale signs that we are getting older. That we are aging. That, perhaps, we are no longer the second-looker we might have once been. That we don’t look like we did twenty years ago. That we have to rely on MUCH, MUCH MORE than our looks these days to stand out or get by. And that there, in that unfamiliar and humbling spot, something like true self-acceptance is born. And wisdom. And humility. And strength. And confidence. And compassion.

Because, even though society might constantly reinforce our looks as our essence and try to convince us it is our worth, if we bought into that pack of lies, WE WOULD NEVER FEEL WORTHY.

Because definitions of beauty and external standards are constantly moving targets, made up by the beauty police and corporate marketing gurus who know playing on our fears and weaknesses is the best way to get our attention; at least when we are using their measuring stick . . .

But one of the very best lessons I’ve learned, as I galloped through my thirties (husband, kids, doctorate) and now find myself knee-deep in my forties, is this: The measuring stick I was using to measure my worth early on was absolutely, positively WORTHLESS. Those mean, unrelenting, unsustainable standards that negated my inherent goodness and tried to have me believe I wasn’t good enough or pretty enough or smart enough or thin enough??? Wrong. Wrong. All wrong. And I’m not buying it anymore.

(And neither should you.)

What has become clearer with my middle-aged "perspectacles" (ala Glennon Doyle Melton @ www.momastery.com) is that our “X marks the spot” treasure will NEVER be found outside ourselves in our looks or our physicality. It is only by going within and learning to like and accept what we find there – by affirming our own uniqueness and gifts – that we are able to fully BE ourselves in this crazy, beautiful adventure we call life.

Now, don’t get me wrong. I am all for self-care and pampering, on our terms and that meets our wants and needs. I’m all about a good mani-pedi. I am a big believer in the healing powers of massage and will take one anywhere I can get it, even in the middle of the mall at the chair massage area. I’m not picky. And honestly, I’d be lost without eyeliner and good mascara. My motto these days: Bring attention to the eyes and walk fast. (I’m hoping they’ll only remember the baby blues and the youthful gait and leave those other southwardly migrating parts alone!)

And as much as my kids beg me to stop coloring my hair and let it go “natural” (read: middle-of-the-road brown and half gray), I’m honest enough to say that, for now, I still really like having my hair and eyebrows MATCH. If my dark brown eyebrows go gray (and I’ll admit I did find one errant ALBINO hair in my right brow that almost set me back a whole morning!), I’ll consider the transition. But there are vestiges of me still clinging to an image of a head full of mahogany colored hair . . . call me vain if you will. I know I’m not alone. (I also know and love women with the most beautiful heads of gray hair – silver, white, lovely. And with wit and wisdom that matches their beauty - inside and out. I plan to happily join their ranks someday. But, I’m not there yet. So be it.)

 

This evolution from young to older (to someday old, and perhaps, wise) is natural and strange and scary and humbling. Even exhilarating at times. To have made it this far - better – deeper – truer – more ALIVE . . . excavating our authentic selves so that we can find and share our treasure on our terms, with our own homemade maps, on our own timeframes. With our people, our beloved others. Many of whom are the very mentors, role models, and pacers that show us what aging gracefully looks like, how to remember to laugh at ourselves and life, and cry some too. How to hold each other, love right through it, no matter what life brings. Because, after all, the show must go on.

Life, to me, seems to be an excavation dig where we discover with each passing year more of who we are and who we are meant to be. The right tools are essential (prayer, affirmation, books, role models, and yes, even eye liner in times of need!!). And if we tune in to our own internal compass - that deep knowing of our own true north - our aging can be a grace-filled and grand unfolding.

Sure, we could listen to all those external voices and ads that tell us: “You must appear youthful at all costs (it’s not possible but hey! If you haven’t figured that out, that’s your loss and our gain)!” or “You will never be _________ enough . . . “ But if we did give those voices any credence, we might not get out of bed most days! Thank goodness, we are much smarter than that. SO MUCH SMARTER.  We know the TRUTH: that the grace in this transition is ours to be had for the taking. And when done from a centered, at-home-in-our-own-skin place, we can fully accept and unconditionally love the whole-hearted, imperfect people we are constantly becoming.

It’s like the passage from the Velveteen Rabbit that I’ve always loved:

. . . When someone loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but really loves you, then you become Real . . . It doesn’t happen all at once . . . You become. It takes a long time. That’s why it doesn’t often happen to people who break easily or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But these things don’t matter at all, because once you are Real you can’t be ugly, except to people who don’t understand.

Isn’t “Real” what we are all shooting for? Being loved and accepted – and being able to love and accept - no matter what? It truly seems the secret to this thing called aging – this ultimate humbling experience, this natural unfolding that is our LIFE – is to love and accept ourselves and our people – right through it, without condition. ‘Til our hair’s gone awry (or just gone!), our eyes are drooping (or the eyeliner's run dry!), our joints are floppy (or we've had a knee replacement or two!) and we’re threadbare (or our skin's a'saggin'!).

Regardless . . . that THERE, in that whole-hearted space, we’ll finally embrace our true selves - and each other.

Real. Beautiful. Whole. And worthy of every good thing.

I’ll meet you there.