Aging is Beautiful
I was at a local, Minneapolis restaurant on Thursday all nestled in a corner table secretly staring and admiring the table of glorious humans in front of me. Nine beautiful matriarchs sat discussing with one another. They spoke with intention, moving their freckled, worn hands, some brown, some peach, all soft and lined. They listened to one another beyond hearing, past the crow feet and weathered skin. It was like watching trees absorb rainwater. They were magic. I wanted to know them. I wanted to be them.
This picture of me, 30, smile lines beginning to carve into my face as evidence of my time in this body, as evidence of my time spent in joy. One day those lines won't leave when I relax my face and this will be the true sign of decades of joy. This will be the sign that I might sit at the table too. Something to look forward to, don't you think?