THE AGING APPEARANCE ISSUE

 Fear of aging is a very real fear that strikes at our hearts. Our souls. I think this is more true of women than men. I believe this because I am a woman and understand vanity and appearance issues. We want longevity...but we want it with our thirty-year-old appearance. Bodies young and tight! 

Men do not discuss such topics as wrinkles, weight gain and baldness. Much.

We have limited, or no control, over the serious illnesses that can strike without warning at any age. For the most part, they are preventable and unpredictable. But we like to believe we have control over our appearance. Way before we reach senior status we are gripped with panic at the sighting of the first wrinkle or the first gray hair (plucked out instantaneously). We confront the fear of losing our youthful appearance with denial, even though the physical signs of aging swamp us like a raging tsunami.

Liver spots, a swollen belly and spreading crevices as deep as the Grand Canyon pop up with increasing frequency. To combat these pesky problems we reach out to the marketers who have been inundating us with "cures."

We buy anti-aging supplements, cosmetic surgery, peels, purges and more. There are treatments offered for whatever you can afford. The tragedy may be in how many folks buy into this dream of youthful appearance as some sort of guarantee for a longer, or better life.

Women, more so than men, spend billions of dollars toward the hope and process of looking forever young. In the end, far too many achieve a mouth that can no longer smile and eyes stretched beyond the ability to read an eye chart. The "transported by aliens look."

Anti-aging products are now number one in sales. Chemical peels and liposuction are in the top ten surgery procedures. Globally, the Precendence Research company projects by 2030 we will spend more than one hundred and nineteen billion dollars for products and procedures to appear younger. That's $119.6 billion!

The truth is, no matter how much money we spend, we'll never regain the face and body of our thirty-year-old selves.

Oh, but the quest is not new. Juan Ponce de Leon searched for the Fountain of Youth in St. Augustine Florida way back in 1520. I've visited the Fountain- out of curiosity. Since the waters have not had the desired effect on the thousands of tourists who visit the Fountain each year, I didn't drink any. But if things don't improve I may. It's only a thirty-minute ride away. 

I'm not anti-aging. I'm for aging, naturally and with as much grace as I can muster. 

AGE ENTITLEMENT

 There's a certain sense of entitlement that comes with aging...and it comes in various levels, increments of good and evil. For instance, some seniors feel entitled to be rude, even hurtful by saying or doing whatever they wish. I'd rather focus on positive entitlement like my friend Linda shared with me.

There are times when advanced age gives one a ticket to outrageous behavior, or so my aging brain likes to think. Maybe I feel my agedness gives me an excuse to do something in us that feels we're disappearing, being forgotten, not being seen?

The name tag on the saleswoman checking me out at a store recently read Adeline. I asked if she knew the song with her name in the title. She'd been told about the song but never heard it. She blushed as I sang Sweet Adeline to her in its entirety.Applause and laughter throughout the store followed, and from the rear a lovely true tenor voice lifted to sing the song again. I hope everyone in the store enjoyed the sing-a-long. As I drove away I thought about how embarrassed my children would have been had any of them accompanied me shopping. I laughed and sang some more. It felt good. What fun.

Entitlement often equals happiness.

So let me tell you about my entitlement today.  I enjoy writing. I've been doing it since I first picked up a pencil. I write for the love of words, for creating stories and for my peace of mind. I think if I didn't write they would have to lock me up somewhere and throw away the key. Writing is the most inexpensive form of therapy available in this modern, shrink-wrapped world.

When I was employed to write - just about all of my adult life - I was well disciplined and wrote whether or not I was in the mood, with or without a muse over my shoulder. Now old and ostensibly retired I only feel moved to write when the mood strikes me. After all those years I feel entitled. I immediately write "The End" for a family vacation, a cruise with friends, or a great football game.

How to you feel entitled? When do you play the entitlement card?

PATCH, PATCH, PATCH!

 I like to think of my old body as a '57 Thunderbird. I loved that car. I coveted that car. But, alas, I never owned one. The Thunderbird boasted the roaring energy of a V-8 engine apart from its sleek, awesome style...energy and style similar to my body way back in the day. Now, like the old classic car, my parts are wearing out. Fortunately, today's medical community provides replacement parts. Or, has determined, thanks to evolution, that the human body no longer requires certain parts - think appendix. Think a lung lobe.

There are body parts that are scary when they go awry. Any part in the heart for example. This is why we need the support and the encouragement of souls who have marched before us into these types of replacement or treatment adventures and have prevailed.

Not long ago a hunch became a reality when I was diagnosed with an obstruction in one of my heart arteries. Anxiety set in. (It's a family thing.)

"You mean I can't participate in Tai Chi?" Not until further testing.

"So what do I do while I wait? You're talking to a former type A personality here! I cannot just wait for answers." (Drama is another family thing.)

And yet, wait is what I did initially. Afraid to move. Besides the meds made me sleepy. I could sleep standing up. Oddly enough the statistics on women's medical issues are quite different from the perceptions. While one in thirty-nine women will be diagnosed with breast cancer, one in five women will suffer from heart disease. I did not know. Did you?

There is a history of heart disease in my family so while I was genuinely shocked at the statistics I was not surprised by the test results. And while I waited for the follow-up test results, I read. I read books. I read the fine print, the notes and the footnotes. Until I realized I was wasting precious time. Wasting time is the real rub. If I were on the brink of death the day the threat was discovered, I would have been hospitalized then and there. Immediately. But I was free and happy to be! 

I am thankful and amazed at the incredible machines that can see into our bodies and allow physicians to pinpoint what they could have only guessed at a few short years ago.

I can walk in the sun, taking in the Florida beauty of nature and wildlife surrounding me. Things I took for granted in my young past.

I can manage household chores. (Not cleaning the fridge today, thank you. Any excuse.)

I'm able to share my experiences on this blog and assure you no matter what there is still quite a bit of living to do ahead. Be ready for it. There are treatments. There are cures.

I can give myself a spa day, call old friends, and shop online. (Although shopping online proved dangerous to my wallet during the Covid lockdown.)

Lame reasoning above? Perhaps, but I came of age during the time of Dr. Norman Vincent Peale and his message of positivity. Just making the shortlist of can-do's snapped me out of my anxiety and impending depression...and launched me on the road to mental recovery, which is half the battle. Good news! My broken body part can be and will be fixed as whatever part you might need fixed or replaced in the future will be. 

By the bye, if you're one of those lucky people who own a '57 Thunderbird I understand you can still find parts.

And remember the immortal words of the late actor Jimmy Stewart, "After age seventy, it's patch, patch, patch."

So happy we can patch.