face forward
June 26, 2015 § 4 Comments
There is irony in the passage of years, I feel the humor intimately in my morning routines. I am a woman looking to my reflection for the girl of my youth, no longer so eager to cheat the years in a mad race toward maturity.
I thought time would deliver me into an image of more worldly expressions, that I would evolve into a glamorous stranger. Instead I wake each day to a funny recognition of self.
My eyes recall the errant efforts of youth, the eager ignorance of hard lines and clumsy shapes. Blemishes and stray hair, I have exhausted my skin with harsh chemicals and sharp ends of overused tweezers. I was unkind in my attention, unforgiving in my imperfections.
I never matured into an image of sophistication, rather I settled into the shape of my truth with a fondness for a simpler expression of self; a gentler appreciation for lines that tell a story of heartache and joy.
It is a beautiful undoing, years of well-intentioned manipulation washed away for a wiser recognition of a naked knowing. I am both the girl behind the mask of old dreams and the woman in the mirror; a complicated and contradictory skin of experiences that shelter memories.
I have come to spend less time creating an image and more care nourishing grace.
scribblechic 
I have recently spent some time reconciling myself with the march of time. (And that’s not including my last, difficult post.) I’m accepting of everything, I think.
I suppose we have little choice beyond how we accept that which we cannot control. Aging itself is a gift of time.
I am sure nourishing grace is the way my French friends do it. And they look fab. Here we go:).
Even the suggestion of a French philosophy lends sophistication.