I turned thirty-two last Monday.
The thirties are a bit of a strange decade, I’m learning. I know that I am still quite young, and I feel that way most days—probably because I am unmarried and still in school, yet to really begin my career or start a family or any of those things that are such common markers of adulthood.
But at the same time, I definitely don’t feel like I’m twenty-two anymore (no matter how loudly I might sing along to Taylor Swift’s iconic anthem). I notice the generational divide between myself and my college students, and the imminent birth of my first nephew firmly establishes me as an adult in the family—no longer the youngest, no longer a child.
And then there are those inevitable changes to my appearance that come with growing older. I am all too uncomfortably aware, for example, of the gray hairs sprouting up like weeds underneath my cowlick, the crow’s feet unfurling around my eyes, the frown lines between my brows, and the joint pain beginning to make its unwelcome appearance.
I could certainly bemoan these changes, and sometimes I do. Other days, I am wise enough to remember that my body’s beauty doesn’t just come from how it looks, but from what it can do: play the piano, sing a song, go for a jog, cook a meal, write a story (or a dissertation).
But this morning, as I stand in front of the mirror and swipe blush over the apples of my cheeks, I notice something else.
I have my father’s strong jaw and defined cheekbones, but the way my eyes crinkle around the edges when I am happy, the shape of my lips when I smile without opening my mouth . . . this is all my mom. I recognize the face that meets me in the mirror because it’s the one I see when she’s proud of me, or when her eyes are twinkling with mischief and silliness. It’s a face that tells me, without saying a word, that I am loved and delighted in.
And someday, when she is no longer with me, I will still carry this part of her. When I smile in the mirror, she’ll be smiling back at me.
My body tells a story of where I’ve come from and the family who loves me. Yours does the same for you, if you have eyes to see it.
And I can’t think of anything more beautiful.
Have a lovely weekend, my friends.
Warmly,
Sarah
Beautiful!