Here I sit broken-hearted ...
Well, not really (and that's the beginning of one of my most favorite potty-poems). While I'm not sad, I am freaking out a bit and it's kind of escalating.
You see, I'm about to do what millions/billions have done before me and what many more will do afterwards: I'm turning 40, the big 4-0, old fart, over-the-hill, etc. It's a scary number, but really, I think 39 is scarier. You feel like every day is your last before the dreaded day that you become four decades old.
As I approach that fateful date (Aug. 31, to be exact), the staring in the magnified mirror gets longer and longer - what can I erase or change next? Is it my melasma (damn that birth control and two pregnancies)? My crooked teeth (damn me for not wearing my retainer regularly post-braces)? My sun damage on my forearms (and damn me for not wearing sunscreen for so many years)? My wide a$$ and saddlebags? (Damn me for eating those three sugar cookies last night.)
While my fear and anxiety about turning 40 heightens with each day, something else is happening. It's almost becoming a strange battle within my 39-year-old-self.
A new voice has emerged and it's saying, "Eff it. You are who you are and stop throwing money down the drain trying to erase your myriad of imperfections." This new voice isn't all peace and love and telling me to love myself for who I am. In fact, it's kind of harsh.
"There are people fighting cancer right now. There are people who are going through unimaginable losses right now. There are people struggling to make ends meet right now. There are people in dangerous and abusive relationships right now."
This alternate voice is basically saying, "You're life's pretty good, so why would you want to change it in such a soulless, superficial way?"
This same voice is also saying, "Chica, you ain't a big pop star and don't make movies for a living, so why are you trying to look like the people who do?"
She's right, you know.
I'm turning 40. I have a funny baby and a sassy seven-year-old. We live in a nice house, I'm in good health and so far, my loved ones are all still with me. Here I am desperate to stop the clock - and for what? In the grand scheme of things, it really isn't worth it and thanks to the mean b&%$#@ in my head trying to knock some sense into me, I'm starting to just not care. I'm exhausted, after all!!
While I'll always have deep-seated anxieties about my imperfections that will never go away, I'm constantly being reminded that there are more important things in life to worry about than my insecurities. Who cares that I'm not all Hollywood-looking?
Now, I'm not throwing in the towel completely. I'll still go to the gym, wear sunscreen, whiten my teeth, get a tad of onabotulinumtoxinA squirted into my forehead on occasion and test out new beauty products, but I'm not going to kill myself chasing perfection - something that I will never attain.
Don't get me wrong. Turning 40 still scares the daylights outta me and my heels will be bloody by the time I get there, due to all the digging. But, I have a lot of more important things going on in my life that I'd like to keep going for another four decades, so why worry?
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