I’m 62. I’ve got wrinkles too. Of course I do. But honestly, it doesn’t matter. At least, not in the way it used to.
Yesterday I looked at a tulip in the garden. It was at that stage where the petals start to fall off, all crinkled and bruised at the edges—but right there in the centre, it was still glowing. Still beautiful. That struck me. Even decay has its own beauty, if you let yourself see it.
I used to compare myself to others. I don’t anymore. It just made me feel small and tired. People need to meditate. Seriously. Because eventually, you will lose your looks. You will lose everything, really. The only thing that stays with you is your awareness. And that you can deepen, if you want. That’s the part worth working on.
Sometimes, sure, I look at my neck and think, “Oh god, do I need surgery?” But then I stop myself—because who am I trying to impress? I’m not out looking for a man. And if I dig a little deeper, I know what that panic’s really about: other people’s approval. The fear of being seen as somehow less because I’m aging. Especially as a woman. But I’ve worked hard to get to a place where I approve of myself. That’s the only approval that brings peace.
When I think of my grandmother, I don’t remember her wrinkles. I remember how safe I felt around her—Geborgenheit, that deep, rooted sense of being held and known. That’s what stays with me. And other people didn’t remember her for her looks either. During the war, when the SS came for her Jewish neighbours, she stood in front of them and said, “If you take them, you’ll have to take me too.” And they left. That’s what people remembered. Her empathy. Her courage.
I love this Taru! And the bit about your wrinkled arm - gorgeous. I want to have that response too, next time I see that on myself or on someone else. Plus I loved your demo to the nurse re the sing-song voice. Brilliant!
Thanks, Jane. It turns out I had 2 previous posts about wrinkles, and this one resonated with me the most. Perhaps I was obsessed with them? What’s funny is two women unsubscribed after reading it and my first response was to feel quite happy. Another surrender to “what is, is, and what ain’t, ain’t.
I have numerous photos of my current aged skin. It still puzzles me how I got from younger skin to older skin. I’ve been busy living my life and a surprised with these changes. If I had no mirrors or cameras I probably wouldn’t have a clue that “aging” changes the body.
What fun! Thank you for sharing yourself! I had to laugh at your arm as I too have noticed my skin melting down my arm while lying in bed reading. It startled me and then made me laugh!
When I look at my body these days I see my grandmother's arms and my mother's hands. And I am grateful to see the connection since they have both been gone for decades. I also appreciate that I "get to" be this age. My mother didn't.
Absolutely! At my age, I am grateful to be alive and still able to do most activities of daily living, as well as write on Substack. I'm happy you get to age as you like.
I’m 62. I’ve got wrinkles too. Of course I do. But honestly, it doesn’t matter. At least, not in the way it used to.
Yesterday I looked at a tulip in the garden. It was at that stage where the petals start to fall off, all crinkled and bruised at the edges—but right there in the centre, it was still glowing. Still beautiful. That struck me. Even decay has its own beauty, if you let yourself see it.
I used to compare myself to others. I don’t anymore. It just made me feel small and tired. People need to meditate. Seriously. Because eventually, you will lose your looks. You will lose everything, really. The only thing that stays with you is your awareness. And that you can deepen, if you want. That’s the part worth working on.
Sometimes, sure, I look at my neck and think, “Oh god, do I need surgery?” But then I stop myself—because who am I trying to impress? I’m not out looking for a man. And if I dig a little deeper, I know what that panic’s really about: other people’s approval. The fear of being seen as somehow less because I’m aging. Especially as a woman. But I’ve worked hard to get to a place where I approve of myself. That’s the only approval that brings peace.
When I think of my grandmother, I don’t remember her wrinkles. I remember how safe I felt around her—Geborgenheit, that deep, rooted sense of being held and known. That’s what stays with me. And other people didn’t remember her for her looks either. During the war, when the SS came for her Jewish neighbours, she stood in front of them and said, “If you take them, you’ll have to take me too.” And they left. That’s what people remembered. Her empathy. Her courage.
That’s the kind of beauty that matters to me now.
Me, too!
I love this Taru! And the bit about your wrinkled arm - gorgeous. I want to have that response too, next time I see that on myself or on someone else. Plus I loved your demo to the nurse re the sing-song voice. Brilliant!
Thanks, Jane. It turns out I had 2 previous posts about wrinkles, and this one resonated with me the most. Perhaps I was obsessed with them? What’s funny is two women unsubscribed after reading it and my first response was to feel quite happy. Another surrender to “what is, is, and what ain’t, ain’t.
I have numerous photos of my current aged skin. It still puzzles me how I got from younger skin to older skin. I’ve been busy living my life and a surprised with these changes. If I had no mirrors or cameras I probably wouldn’t have a clue that “aging” changes the body.
I call that blissful ignorance, and I think it's great.🥰
What fun! Thank you for sharing yourself! I had to laugh at your arm as I too have noticed my skin melting down my arm while lying in bed reading. It startled me and then made me laugh!
Thanks for sharing your wrinkle story. It seems we are kindred spirits!
When I look at my body these days I see my grandmother's arms and my mother's hands. And I am grateful to see the connection since they have both been gone for decades. I also appreciate that I "get to" be this age. My mother didn't.
Perspective is everything, isn't it, Taru?
Absolutely! At my age, I am grateful to be alive and still able to do most activities of daily living, as well as write on Substack. I'm happy you get to age as you like.