Age—a reflection

When I looked in the mirror today while getting ready, I thought to myself, "Yeah, I look thirty-three.”  Aging—it’s a peculiar thing, it kinda crept up on me. When I was sixteen, I could pass for twenty.  When I was twenty-four, twenty-six, I could still pass for twenty.  But now I’m thirty-three, not far from thirty-four, and I don’t think I would be mistaken for anything other then in my thirties. I’ve heard different theories through the years on how to guess a person’s age.  “It’s in their eyes,” they would say, or, “it’s hidden in their smile”, or “look at their hands, they can’t hide age there.”  I admit that I’m having a hard time adjusting to the tale-tale signs of age. But then I look beyond that.  I look down at my hands and see all the lines and weathered roughness from nights of washing dishes after sitting around the dinner table with my family as we shared our stories of the day.  I see the dark circles under my eyes that come from broken sleep because my little one needs to be comforted and the only place he wants to be is right next to me on my pillow.  I see the crinkles on my face that are now permanent remainders from smiles  and laughter shared with my favorite people.  My hands, eyes, and smile show more age now at thirty-three then they did at twenty-three, but I’d rather be the person I feel on the inside now then the young woman I looked like then.  To have the love, comfort, confidence, and happiness that age brings is worth it.