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There are some days, not all days, but some of them where the revelation that I am growing old, bit by bit and inch by inch hits like a ton of bricks. It may be because despite how perfectly I have applied my mascara, my eyes still look withered or no matter how much time I spend grooming my hair its 58-year old texture just refuses to behave and looks ghastly or it might be because I had a mighty fine work-out only to discover when I get in the shower there is a dull ache in my arm. Instead of knowing it will go away, the thought creeps in, “Is this the start of something big? Is my cartillage leaking out?”
Nothing is the way it used to be and the idea that this spiral of slow decline is the new norm is just one big icky thing that does not make me happy. That’s when I call Lois, the eternal optimist whose favorite slogan is “It’s going to get better!”, but she is a peer and she too is in the process of figuring out this new story line. So we commiserate and crack up at the absurdity of how the body betrays its host and figure this means its time to plan a dance party.
The Write Side of 59 
Oh man, I hear ya sisters! Feeling the exact same way. I can dye this gray hair, but I can’t hide its new texture. My once smooth, silky, little-bit wavy hair is now coarse and frizzy and curly. And that’s minor of course. At least we’re aging with as much energy, perspective, and style as possible. That’s my consolation. And PLEASE invite us to the dance party! love you guys.
(BTW, male client came in yesterday proclaiming “you’re a beach bunny??” No idea what he meant, but he had googled me, found my blog entry and bio. Time to edit it!!)
You are definitely expected at the Beach Baby and Bunny Bingo Dance Party. xoxo
Im 58, I wont dye my hair, I only wear lipstick. Im not having a problem with my age, didn’t we always know time moved on and we were no expection? I wish I knew then what I know now but I didn’t and no one I hung out with younger knew it either, so what difference does it make? I like who I am now, I know what I don’t like and don’t waste time as much as I used to. I realize I have so much to say but at the same time I realize we are the private benefactors of our hard earned wisdom, when all is said and done. My last teen is leaving for college in two weeks, a part of me wishes I could run alongside of her and be her age again myself but I also am so glad that I am not her age anymore.