A couple years ago when I was browsing the latest Martha Stewart magazine and sipping my too-hot coffee, I came across an article about aging gracefully, written by Lisa Borgnes Giramonti. I found it interesting and decided to save it in the black-and-white-striped-kitchen-binder that holds all the recipes I tear out of pretty magazines but don’t make often enough. Someday when there is time, right?
Fast forward to two years later. 2014 was a turning point kind of year for me. A year of so MANY changes, including personal and business victories, and also some hopeful projects that didn’t happen. Some bucket list items were achieved (yay for getting back to painting!) and some others were moved to my 2015 list.
Towards the end of this bookmark year, I said hello to thirty five. 35. It feels a little funny to say it, I’m still getting used to my new age. WHY is that though? I did a lot of “growing up” in the last decade but never felt “old”. This year is different. I FEEL older, but not in a depressing sort of way. I feel old in a good way, the kind that brings quiet confidence and a better realization of what makes me truly happy, with a need to please only myself and my family. No, I certainly don’t have it all figured out, whatever “it” is.
And then I pulled out that hastily torn magazine page and read through it, and I’m so glad I did. An interior design enthusiast, Lisa says “It is a truth universally acknowledged that profound insights often come from the connection of trivial things”. So very true. A former interior designer myself, I really connected with the example she portrayed. Browsing through an antiques store, she fell in love with an old Moroccan footstool. “Its once brown cushion has faded into a rich honey hue, and its leather has been creased and cracked by time.” All those scratches and imperfections – they’re signs that it has lived and been loved.
“Character. Age. Patina. Why do we value these qualities in our possessions but not in ourselves?” Ouch. Guilty.
Furniture. Jewelry. Clothes. Even wine and cheese. We love vintage and aged because it has character and personality. Why not think of ourselves as vintage then? Why correct those much-treasured lines of character around our eyes? Didn’t we earn those after plenty of mistakes and lessons through our 20’s, 30’s, wherever we all are in our individual journeys.
“Woman, circa 1960s, a repository of soul and experience. Scattered laugh lines, seams, and creases only serve to deepen her charisma. Mellowed by love and time to a rosy luster.” Sounds pretty good, doesn’t it?
Which brings me to the title of this post. “Aged to imperfection“. That’s how I feel about myself currently. That I am aging imperfectly and I’m perfectly okay with that.