I wonder how many people are going through experiences similar to mine. I wonder if anybody’s ever going to read what I write – this blog, my novel when it’s done, my scripts. I sure hope so. I particularly hope Mr. Robert de Niro reads the script I got to him and likes it, and says “sure, we’ll make the movie”. I’m waiting for the phone call.
Two days ago I went into the library in town. I had such a great interaction with the librarian. We were talking about how this year has sped past, which led to how terrifying it is to be this age. We agreed we don’t feel much older than when we were much younger.
I remembered being ten, and working out how old I’d be at 2000, and thinking it would be ancient. Or I probably would never live that long. It wouldn’t happen to me. Well it did. And that was 9 years ago. We had a moment of such similar experience, and had fun with it.
Then I said it’s not my age that bothers me, it’s what’s happening to my face, (because the rest of my body’s in pretty good shape). She didn’t know what I was talking about. Really, she meant it. She kind of scrutinized my face and said I don’t see it. I don’t think you’ve got anything to worry about.
Love that woman.
I carry around with me an image that is so old, so burned into the retina of my consciousness. When I was a little girl I knew there was something wrong with the way I looked, that my sisters were beautiful and I was ugly. Looking back at photographs I see it isn’t true.
I carried that self-image with me through my whole life. When I was in my late twenties, living in Italy, trying to learn the violin, I thought I was so disgusting that I couldn’t bear to see my own reflection.
So now that age has begun to impact, it’s just another hook for that old self-image. So much of the time I believe I look haggard and like I’m an old ninety-five, all wrinkled and grey. Then either somebody reflects back the truth to me, or I catch myself in the mirror, and realize it’s not the truth.
Time to dump that old image.