The Aging Game

Wrinkles are life’s measurable outcome.

I would say my face started visibly aging when I turned 40. (My soul’s age is skipping in a groove somewhere in adolescence.) People were always telling me how young I looked. I’ll throw out a few examples:

A Message from Me to You

You are unique, from your giggle and guffaw to the lilt in your singing voice to the hack of your cough and the whiz of your sneeze, your peculiar perfume, the way your hair falls, the furrows on your forehead, the supple, funnel shape of your ears, the swirling hue of each iris, the slope of your nose, the slant of your smile, the tone and texture of your skin, the dotty pattern of your moles, the tiny highways on your hands, the length and bulk of each hairy toe, the weight of your frame, your curves or lack thereof, how you carry yourself, your relaxed amble or intent gait, the effortlessly cool or charming, quirky way you dance, the way your soul expresses its essence, the “who of you”, to the world. I believe you were a big idea, thought up and fleshed out by the brilliant, grand designer. Knit together in a mother’s womb is how King David describes it in Psalm 139. Imagine the gnarled hands of an old women, whose been knitting for what seems like forever, capably, efficiently fashioning an original, let’s say, scarf, as practical as it’s beautiful.