February 21, 2021
A friend sent me some writing about the privilege of aging, how our bodies change so drastically, but what is on the inside of us becomes like gold. It is true.
A lot of times I’ll tell people how old I am, and they’ll tell me I don’t look that old. Don’t I? I think I look exactly as old as I am. Because that’s exactly how old I am.
My friend sent me those words as encouragement. She wanted to assure me that the outside is temporal, and the inside is eternal. It’s such an affirming thing to hear and a freeing thing to know. And I do know.
I responded, “Thanks Dana. Age shows. Mental illness ravages.”
I’m not sure how she’ll receive that. If she’ll get the full import of what I was trying to convey. Here’s what I really meant:
The inside of me has grown to gold. Some parts are a mangled freeform mess. Some parts are a modern masterpiece. Some parts are jagged sharp and will slice to the soul. Some parts are smooth and undulating. Some parts are hard and unchanging. Some parts are soft and malleable. Some parts are ravaged and pitted and scarred. Some parts are incomprehensible. All the parts, the whole sum of the parts, are breathtakingly beautiful.
Photo by Flash Dantz on Unsplash