I know, I know, it’s inevitable. I don’t have an issue with the fact that I’ll be turning 42 later this year, though. In fact, I’m proud to be where I’m at in life, even if it means spending more time getting bunion-cushioning shoe inserts and vitamin supplements than it does staying out late with friends getting sushi and drinks.
What is somewhat bizarre to me, however, is how the signs of getting older have crept up on me. Big time.
We’re talking going to sleep and waking up with pains and problems that I swear didn’t exist when I went to bed.
Thing is, I’m more intrigued (and somewhat amused) by the signs of aging that seem to have suddenly hit like a ton of bricks than I am bummed out about them.
Why mope around feeling miserable about something that’s a normal part of life? Wrinkles and bunions and heading to bed early? Throw it all my way! (But not too quickly, as nowadays, I often become momentarily lightheaded if I stand up too quickly.)
Here are 8 ways that aging has crept up on me that I am surprisingly OK with. (Really.)
1. I can’t wear high heels like I used to.
For as long as I can remember, I was a heel lover.
Even when I commuted in New York City, I refused to wear sneakers while walking several blocks to work. I simply didn’t see the fun and fashion sense donning Nikes with a pencil skirt.
Flash forward 15 years, and past a few other careers, to just the other day, when I visited my primary doctor about pain in my left foot. I walked away (in heeled boots, of course) with:
- A plantar fasciitis diagnosis (wha—?)
- Foot exercise instructions involving rolling my foot on a cold bottle of water
- His observation that I also have a separate issue with my other foot in the form of a small bunion
I may have shed a tear when I got home after the visit, standing before a closetful of shoes I may never wear again. Ah, who am I kidding?
2. I'll show you mine if you show me yours.
Mind out of the gutter! This is all about having a certain pride and curiosity in swapping stories about changes in skin, teeth, and yes, even our increased amount of gas release (I have no shame, and let's get real: We all do it).
Whereas there was a time I'd never bring up the topic of stray chin hairs or a creaking knee to a neighbour or stranger, I now find myself semi-bonding with the cashier about the appearance of my new mole.
“Honey, that's nothing,” she says, as she pauses to roll her sleeve up and discuss the reason behind her four-inch scar. We laugh. We roll our eyes. We exchange doctor recommendations. Life is good.
Watch: Tips for dating in your forties and above. (Post continues after video.)