I discovered something very interesting about myself. I have a particular affinity for long sleeved t-shirts with well worn holes in them. I have never actually thought about this peculiarity until today. In the past I would have thrown these treasured T’s away not considering them fit to be given to a homeless shelter. Now I insist on wearing them. Every day!
I live by the sea and somehow between the sea air and my wholly shirts I feel comfortable. The T’s are soft and well worn. So the question that keeps bothering me is why I don’t accept myself with my well worn qualities like I accept and love my T’s. I am getting older and softer in places that I try so hard to cover up. I am well worn. The lines on my face and the texture of my skin prove this. I want to hide these flaws yet at the same time cling desperately to my tattered t-shirts.
If I am to be honest, my t-shirts show a sort of indifference to the well-pressed and well-dressed norm of my society. In my quiet way, I am making a statement. I am not to be judged by the quality of my T’s. I think my indifference gives me an edge. But then why do I cover my aging spots with make-up and find clothes that cover my middle-aged bulge? Why do I spend hours each month coloring my graying hair? Am I not as good as my beloved T’s? Shouldn’t I be treasured for the wear that I have been through? I should not be thrown aside because of some laugh lines and well earned worry lines.
Now that I have noticed this dichotomy, what do I do about it?
The T-shirts I am talking about are very vibrant in color. Like my apparel, I need to be bold. No more clinging to youth like a middle school girl flinging herself to a popular click. I am out there on my own, flaws and all, for the world to see. Maybe, just maybe I am old enough not care what anyone else thinks.
That is until the first person doesn’t tell me I look young for fifty.