I am turning 50 this year…in March…March 8 to be exact. So start planning and shopping now. But yes, I am turning 50 and, well, I’m kind of surprised and amazed by that truth and because of that I can’t help but think about it quite a bit. Here is where I warn you that I might be writing about it a lot this year because it is kind of a big thing…at least I think so.
I’ve never been one to shy away from my age. The gene pool I come from seems to be filled with the type of folk who live long, active lives. Age is really but a number I have come to decide when I look at where I have come from. So I have never been one to hide my age, mourn my age, lie about my age or even act my age. Frankly I still feel like a big, goofy kid…until I think about all those grown up responsibilities and worries that I juggle. But for the most part, I don’t see what I perceive that number “50″ is supposed to be….even when my darling daughter Abigael reminds me earlier this week that being 50 makes me “hecka old”. I remind her that it is a good thing that I am because being 18 now it would follow that I am, erm, older…older than her.
Then along comes this week’s prompt for the Focus 52 project I signed on for this year.
Share something that essentially defines who you are (or attempts to!). It could be a hobby, your job, your place in your family, a goal, a collage of a few different images … hey! this could also a perfect time for a self-portrait! *winkwink*nudgenudge*
Oh goody! A self portrait!
I hate pictures of me. I really do. Perhaps that is why I am the one behind the lens here under the Big Top. It’s not that I don’t like what I see. It’s that I don’t see me the way the lens sees me.
A few years ago I had a conversation with a friend who has lost an incredible amount of weight and has kept it off. He shared that it remains a battle for him always because he doesn’t see the slimmer, fitter man that he is. It was then that he pulled out a picture from his wallet of his former self, a much larger, obese man. I still saw that familiar smile and devilish twinkle of his but the picture looked nothing like the man before me. Yet that was who he saw every time he looked at himself in a mirror. Lately when I see a picture of me I see me, the me that I don’t see in the mirror. Yes the lines are definitely there and I see them but I guess I don’t acknowledge them…I just don’t feel them.
But looking at a photograph, or two, or more I see it all…the lines, the imperfections, the years filled with joy, pain, sorrow, music and laughter. They’re all there for me to see.
I am most definitely NOT the kid I feel like inside. I’m not “hecka old” either. But I am a woman who very soon will be fifty years old. To my Dad I say I’m sorry but that makes you “hecka old”. But you still can very easily ride your bicycle across the state of Iowa which is something I can’t do and that makes you phenomenal. Like I said, I come from a pretty awesome gene pool.
But ultimately I know, more than anything, no matter what I look like…no matter what I see when I see my reflection or see a photo of me I more. I am so much freaking more than what I look like.