November 2015
Another note to self:
There are moments when I start to reminisce.
I reminisce about my younger years when I didn't have a care in the world. I would dance the night away in my favorite cocktail dress and my four inch heels, wake up the next morning and be perfectly fine. It's different now. It's different now because I wake up in the morning and a lot of things hurt. My eyes, my back, my legs... my brain hurts. What's funny is that I am painfully (no pun intended) aware that it is only going to get more intense as the years and decades go on.
But the thing is, there's a comforting sense in knowing what is up ahead.
That every year, though my body deteriorates, with each year that I add to my age, I enjoy being with myself even more. The isolation doesn't seem so bad - loneliness is becoming lost, and a new friendship is forming with "I."
I am broken but I am my own being. And that is beauty.
Beauty isn't that at one point I wore heels and ran circles around the dance floor.
Beauty is that I can now run circles around the dance floor in (lower) heels without any care in the world about what the hell other people think of me.
Beauty isn't that I used to be able to rock a Marc Jacobs cocktail dress... if I skipped lunch and dinner.
Beauty is that I can wear ripped jeans and a white t-shirt and be more comfortable in my own skin though the shirt is stretched out and the jeans are maybe a tad bit too long.
A cliche, but so true - beauty fades.
But beauty grows in the unseen areas of life. In the wrinkles and the joint pains, there is a sparkle of joy, a sense of comfort. Someone once said that beauty is pain, but I don't think they knew how true that really is.
Broken beauty. Here's to you. Cheers.
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