February 12, 2019
This aging thing is a journey. Some days I’m just a ragged mess. I ache somewhere I didn’t know I could ache, or there’s a new wrinkle. Sometimes there’s a new wrinkle with a new pimple. I’m changing shape. I’m not necessarily getting heavier. I’m literally changing shape. I’m softening in some places and hardening in others, both physically and emotionally.
Michelle, my best friend, and I text back and forth on the regular about something else that has happened. Some new discovery in this aging business. Most days we can laugh about it. Most days but not all. When we look at each other, we aren’t the ten-year-olds that became best friends by a twist of fate. We are women halfway through. Not at the end. Not at the beginning. There’s something beautiful about that, even if it isn’t always pretty.
~
I am reveling
in being halfway through
and growing wide in the middle
and sharp in my edges
and a little frayed
in my nevertheless beautiful ends.