Embrace Your Ugliness. Aging Is a Gift!

Say what? Embrace my cellulite and stretch marks? Smile in the mirror when I see another grey hair? Have a toast on yet another birthday even though I get closer and closer to that horrific number of 40? Closer to hot flashes, wrinkles, fake teeth and diapers?

"Happy birthday granny," is what my sweet younger brother told me last August. A naughty smile he gave me. A slap on his shoulder, he got. "A little bit of respect, grandpa." Again that naughty smile, he opens up his arms, a hug he wants to give but something feels wrong. "Happy 38th sis. This one is for you." A smell fills my nose, I struggle, he giggles, knowing he will let me enjoy from whatever the hell he ate yesterday.

Our humor goes beyond most of my friend's understanding and my parents ask themselves over and over, what on earth went wrong? We blame our dad for teaching us how to release gases during dinner, we tease mum constantly for mixing up our names with those of our dogs (who died 25 years ago)
and I love to bring my mum a box of
chocolate when she talks about losing weight.

In fact, my mum is the one, sharing her vision on aging and skin when I was fourteen. "Feel my legs," she said. Upwards her shin felt like a cactus. Based on that and having very light hair, I took her advice and never shaved my legs. When sunlight shines from a certain angle across my legs, I can see tiny little hairs, waving in the air, saying high to women passing by, with their Botoxed faces.

Until I left home at 17, she used to buy my underwear. Sloggie size M, granny model, very very comfortable. I kept wearing them until I was thirty. "Don't you have any strings in your closet? I mean, I don't want to offend you, but wearing tight sportswear, jumping up and down without wearing a bra and seeing the marks of your enormous Sloggie, is quite ugly you know?"

Ugliness or beauty? Self mockery or self pity? Taking advice or ignoring it? Whatever you do, time passes and your face will tell. Your body changes and your image does to. Aging means change. Change means to adapt. A different size, another color, sexy push-ups and a wellness day with friends.
New friends, ten years younger,
suggesting underwear that makes
your butt look sexier.

If you seriously think you're body is deteriorating, go and spend a day in the sauna. In Holland I went three times a year, just enough to keep myself from complaining about my own body. Men and women, walking around naked, a towel to sit on, all sorts of bodies to look at. Now I'm not talking about an erotic environment, hot muscled guys walking around, women with six packs and perky breasts. Oh no!

I'm talking about a wellness resort. Luxury, peacefulness and Jacuzzis, one overflowing heavily, a big woman joining in. She smiles, her floating breasts bubble to the top, her head up high, feeling as naked and proud as can be.

I look through the water, observing my own body. Once the body of a ballerina girl. Thirteen years of pain, discipline and pure passion. Fifty-two kilo's at the time, 1.65 m, 0 fat percentage, size 'perfect', seriously unhappy. Always on a diet, seeing an elephant in the mirror, that reflection of myself, a perfectionist, never satisfied, always looking for more more more.

I have an older friend. A little over 40. Beautiful, sexy and way too insecure. She has an amazing skin! At least her body does. She smoked all her life and yes, her face shows. We used to shop together, having cheesecake at the end of yet another successful day. For as long as I know her, she wants to lose some weight. For as long as I know her, she hates getting older.

I loved those days in the sauna with her.
"I'm not that bad, am I?"
- "You're absolutely beautiful! Look around. What more do you want?"
"I want to look like before. Slim, size S, men in line to date me."
- "And you want your cigarette, your cheesecake and your wine. You can't have it all. I can't either."
"You don't have wrinkles!"
- "I don't smoke and I have a colored skin."
"Why are you so lucky?"
- "I'm not. I'm Bipolar." We giggle and relax.

On my way to 40, I feel sexier than ever. I love my ballerina legs, my breasts are quite OK, my belly has been flatter and I'm crazy for caffeine. I put sugar in my yogurt, in my tea and over my fruit and I am addicted to tight jeans with stretch! Low waist jeans are a killer to my figure and I absolutely need good bra's, good exercise and 10 hours of sleep.

Months before my birthday, people sometimes ask: "So how old are you anyway?" I always make them guess. They never guess right. I always feel better and then I share my secret: "Almost 39. Wanna know how I did it? I never smoked, drank or did any drugs but I learned to stay fit by having a whole lot of S-E-X." Laughter follows. Shocked faces sometimes. Mission accomplished.

Aging is a gift although some don't see it that way. For all of you who believe in Botox, surgery and magic creams, may it bring what you hoped for. I myself am a strong believer of showing off my first grey hairs, loving ever ugly part of my body, taking myself as serious as possible and enjoying every bit of wisdom, life has taught me.

I don't need to explain, how to accept your beauty and brains. How to love your perfect butt or your tight flat belly. Enjoy it while it lasts and get ready for some change. Stop living in the past and look back at it with happiness. Aging is a gift, for it teaches you the transient nature of the life we live. Just as we learn about the impermanence of beauty and the hidden truth of anti aging products.

Today I stood in front of the mirror. My face looked different. Something had changed. Tiny wrinkles beneath my eyes. Two small spots on top of my nose. I tried to squeeze them. They started to bleed. My darling boyfriend appeared behind me. His face concentrated.

"Don't move OK? I see something horrible!"
- "Ouch!"
"Got it!"
- "What did you do?"
"I saved you from another grey hair. Look!"