In one of my recent scrolls through Instagram, I came upon a woman of a “certain age” bemoaning the indignities of growing old. She purported there were 4 major concerns we women will face, fight and to which we will ultimately capitulate.

1. Waking up with aches and pains.

Well sure. I suppose that as our bones get brittle and our muscles get tired we hurt a bit more. I, for one, was hurting back in my 20s when a fall off a galloping horse concussed me but good and in my 30s when severe whiplash compressed a couple of discs in my neck and headaches became as regular as morning coffee.

BUT … I am in no more pain now (or first thing in the morning) than I was then (any time of day) because I have made a choice to stay active. To get out in rain or shine or blizzard and do that daily walk. And recently, to begin my day with a series of stretches (also found on Instagram) and ridiculous dance moves (devised by ridiculous me) which have alleviated so much of my back and neck discomfort my chiropractor is astounded.

So, I say BAH to that, my old-lady friend. There is always something to be done (verb = activity) to combat life’s inevitable march. Just do it.

2. More wrinkles every day.

Yeah, that comes with the territory. But may I offer that more wrinkles in no way equals less beautiful. Truly, one of the most gorgeous faces I have ever seen belonged to my grandmother, when, in the throes of her dementia at 102, she lit up like a beauty queen when telling me about her new fiancé. One of my best friends, now 75, has never done Botox or makeup for that matter and when her smile lights up her face and her eyes twinkle with delight, man oh man, she is stunning.

I myself tried the ‘enhancement’ route years ago. Botox on my forehead (it was a frigging skating rink!), my ‘elevens’ vanquished (women know what this means) and even some lip filler which hurt like hell when injected and barely made my scrawny lips normal size, much less the Angelina Jolie pout I was hoping for. Ultimately, I gave it all up. I wasn’t totally digging my ‘done’ face (those overarched eyebrows are just plain spooky) and also couldn’t justify the expense. Let’s see … juicy lips or Italy?

Italy won every time.

Addendum: I just read an article stating scientific studies have proven that women who accept their natural faces age with far more self-esteem than women who seek to continually fight nature. That’s a study, okay, not my opinion. I have no problem with anyone doing anything that makes them happy. I’m pretty sure Jane Fonda is ‘done’ (and done well) and she looks amazing. I have just decided that FOR ME, loving my face in spite of my wrinkles and brown spots and droopy eye (just one, thanks) is the way I want to go. And once you make the decision, those wrinkles don’t own you anymore. You own them. Like the road map of a life well-lived they truly are.

3. Not remembering anything.

Oh geez. The other night I was in my kitchen, merrily assembling a lasagna when, at the end, as I sprinkled grated cheese on top, I realized I had sprinkled NO grated cheese in the middle layers. Ever try to disassemble a lasagna? Impossible.

And words. I am a word girl and the other day I could not find the word for those gauzy curtains that billow in the breeze. I had just ordered them online and I still could not find the word.

Sheers. The word is sheers.

Stuff like this is most certainly happening more frequently. Should I be worried? Maybe, but I am not. In decades full of cooking and words and writing and reading and just living, my brain is obviously FULL! And getting fuller every minute. I will forgive myself the occasional lapse and applaud my still intact ability to remember every lyric on Carole King’s Tapestry.

4. Feeling invisible.

Huh?

I don’t feel invisible.

Do I?

My guess is this woman feels invisible because for too long she relied on her appearance to be seen. To be noticed. To be acknowledged. So now, in her 60s (and still damn attractive) she doesn’t feel she possesses that same currency anymore. Where the heck did all those wolf whistles go?

I have an absolutely gorgeous friend who recently confessed that she feels invisible whenever she walks into a clothing store. She feels like the sales ‘girls’ ignore her. But she is model-thin and beautiful. I do not understand. Why would they do such a thing? Is it her age? Or is it her demeanor?

When I walk into any store, I make sure I am smiling my brightest smile and chirp a cheery hello before anybody has a chance to ignore me. Hell, that is my life mandate – I will not be ignored!

You know what? It works. No matter what your age, if you exude positivity in all situations, positivity will return to you. If you take the lead and set the tone, more often than not that same tone will be repaid. And if you feel invisible, you will be invisible.

I have no intention of shrinking into my dotage. I have every intention of living large (a size or two up from when I was 40, that’s for sure) and wrinkly and droopy and achy and forgetful and absolutely REAL – like my grandmother – until I am 100! No one on this planet has any right to make me feel invisible. Not the snooty young shop clerk, not the orthopedic surgeon who ‘aged’ me out of surgery on my broken wrist (“at your age and since it is not your dominant hand, we’ll just put a cast on it.”). Not the phone camera that magnifies all of my flaws and not the broad on Instagram who suggests that aging automatically begets obliteration. I can assure you, if you rely on your looks to stay visible, you will encounter invisibility as soon as those looks diminish.

I am not a ghost nor am I a shadow of my former self. I am fully in charge of my present and my future. I will age gratefully and possibly disgracefully. The mere act of aging fills me with absolute glee. I know far too many who will never know the glory of its freedom.

I refuse to compete with my former self. Talk about an exercise in futility! As long as a bright light continues to shine out of my eyes, I will consider myself beautiful.

You are not invisible. Your light is always there, waiting for YOU to turn it on. No wrinkle or number or ache or minor memory lapse has control of your light.

You do. Now go ahead … turn yourself on.