A Cautionary Tale

This is what I look like right now. This is my fifth bout with skin cancer, and the fourth (and by far the worse) permanent scar on my face.

I don’t go in the sun. I wear sunscreen every day (have for as long as I can remember) so how did I get this way?

This is a result of the horrible sunburns I subjected myself to as a teenager- all so I could look like someone else. Back in the late seventies, when we fair-skinned girls were supposed to be bronzed like Farrah Fawcett, I hated my body, I hated my skin. Kids used to tease me and call me Casper the ghost. That together with the fact that I was trying to be anyone but myself back then (if you’ve read my essay in Dancing at the ShameProm, you know what I mean) was a toxic combination. 

The girl who didn't want to be herself.

So I baked in the sun until my face blistered. And it was awful and painful and foolish, but still I did it again. And again. Anything to not look like me.

And here I am at 48.

When I think back on all the stupid things I did as a teenager…hitchhiking, drugs, hanging out in liquor store alleys asking adults to buy us booze, running away from home and sleeping in the park….Who would have thought that the most dangerous thing I ever did, the thing that caused me the most harm, on so many levels, was wanting to be someone else.

Now I have a permanent scar in the middle of my face to remind myself of the ways I didn’t take care of myself, the ways I didn’t honor myself, the ways I didn’t realize I was fine just the way God made me.

Take it from me- don’t long to be anything but you. Look like you. Embrace you. Live as you. Be grateful for you.

And you won’t end up looking like me.

Don't fight who you are.

Please feel free to use me as a cautionary tale for your kids who won’t wear sunscreen, and to your teens or friends who bake in tanning booths. 

Too Old to Dream?

The girl I used to be...

Are we ever too old to dream?

Last night, Troy and I went with our friends Carnie and Rob to see Kenny Loggins in concert. After all these years (40 plus, can you believe it?) Kenny has still got it – let me tell you. He is handsome and fit and sings his ass off. He performed Danny’s song as beautifully as the day he wrote it. He jumped around the stage, danced, rocked This Is It and Footloose like he was thirty years old.

Are you ready for this? Kenny Loggins is 64. 

Kenny also performed an opening set with Blue Sky Riders, a new vocal harmony band he’s formed with two of Nashville’s top singer songwriters. Kenny said that when he told a trusted advisor he was going to form this new band and go on the road, this friend told him, “You’re too old to start a new band. Maybe you should think about retiring.” In response, Kenny and his bandmates wrote this song,  Dream,  which will now be my new life mantra.

Who are you to tell me what I can’t be

Well, that ain’t right

As if all I’ve been is all I’m ever gonna be

for the rest of my life

You take the glory days

I’ll take what’s on its way

All I can do is believe in myself

If I listen to you, they might as well

leave me in the rain, take me out to sea, lock me up in chains, throw away the key

the day I ever got too old to dream. 

After the show, we went backstage to visit with some of our friends in the band. Our friend Shem, the bass player, said that at 64, Kenny has softened as a person, but has never slowed down artistically, and is writing and singing better than ever. And then I thought about what a wuss I have been lately. 

It’s no surprise to me that this experience would come just as I told Troy I was thinking about quitting my singing career. A woman only has so much shelf life in this shallow music business, after all. Basically, I wanted to leave the biz before it left me, and it was leaving me slowly, my phone sitting quiet for months now.

As if on cue- my phone rang. A few times. And now I have two unexpected gigs this weekend (both with my hubby) and a session next week. I was feeling confused by this. The old Clash song ran though my head – Should I stay or should I go? ( you youngsters probably don’t even know who The Clash is)

Watching Kenny last night, I felt inspired again. What is age anyway? I mean, its inevitable. It’s going to happen to all of us, but it’s the way in which we age that matters. We can fill our lives with joy and gratitude and passion, or we can become bitter and rigid and stiff. Whatever way we choose, it is reflected in the way we appear. A person whose passion burns inside is beautiful on the outside.

Today I am feeling just a bit more hopeful, thanks to Kenny reminding me that I’m never too old to dream. I’m dusting off my songbook, packing up my gear for a gig tonight – and I won’t forget to bring the most important thing of all - my passion. To quote the Blue Sky Riders: You take the glory days- I'll take what's on its way...

Take a moment to watch this video and see if you don’t feel the same:

Blue Sky Riders with Kenny Loggins

Aging is NOT for sissies

While I was in Pennsylvania, Amy and I went out for a nice dinner after a productive day of work. We were all dolled up, out on the town looking pretty cute, I thought. We were enjoying a glass of wine and some great conversation when the waitress stopped by the table to check on us.

We told her we were visiting from out of town and loved Bethlehem.

“So what brings you to our town?” she asked.

“Her husband is the guitar player in Wilson Phillips…” Amy began to say when the girl gasped and turned to me wide-eyed, “Oh my God, are you Michelle Phillips?”

I laughed but then realized she was serious. “No! Michelle is Chynna Phillips mother.” I said indignantly, certain she mixed up their names. But her expression didn’t change. 

I continued, “I’m Chynna’s age!” (okay, full disclosure, I’m five years older but still…), “Michelle is almost 70 years old…”

To which she replied, ‘Oh I know, she’s an old hag now!” (which she is not- she's still beautiful) 

My mouth hung open for a moment. “…and yet, you just mistook me for her.”

She shrugged, apparently oblivious to the fact that she had just insulted us on a myriad of levels. “You really do look like her, though.” She smiled and walked away.

I turned to look at Amy, who was equally horrified, “Oh. My. God.” she said.

I put my head in my hands, “Time for botox.”

Michelle Phillips - still gorgeous.

Aging is not fun, and like Bette Davis said, it’s not for sissies. Gone are the days when people expressed shock that I have a grandchild. I blame 2010. For a good ten years I looked 35, and then 2010 hit me upside the head. The stress levels were off the chart and my body took the hit. I tried my best to combat it; ate healthy, did yoga and ran on my treadmill, tried to meditate, used my Dior skincare religiously…but still, stress is one bas-ass mofo. The wrinkles and gray hairs attacked me at a dizzying pace.

So I had to suck it up that night, and take the punch. I’m getting older. People may sometimes mistake me for a seventy-year old woman. It happens.

I’ve never done anything to my face- no botox or fillers or surgery. I hope I don’t feel the need to as time goes on, but I don’t judge it. Mostly, I just want to stick to my guns about living honestly, and that includes my face. My face tells my story. I have lived forty eight years, raised three kids, a grandkid, survived the ups and downs of a passionate but at times tumultuous marriage, and had my share of hard knocks in life. It’s all here, in these lines…in the circles under my eyes, in the gray around my temples. I have four scars on my face from basal cell skin cancer, a reminder of the teen years I spent baking in the sun because I wanted to look like someone else.

The truth. Me- no make up, under terribly unflattering light.

I’m aging, and I think it’s nature’s way of saying, “Oh get over yourself.” So that’s what I’m trying to do. I’m still exercising and using good skincare, because I want to be healthy and take care of what I’ve got, but not because I’m fighting what is. I’m accepting the journey I’m on now. (Some days are better than others.)

You may think we stiffed that waitress. Nope. We gave her a really generous tip. We figured anyone that stupid is going to need all the help she can get. 

I'm Going To Be Rich!

Out shopping for back-to-school shoes with my little one yesterday, I of course, was ogling the Fall fashions in the windows, but feeling an increased sense of panic as I realized….none of these clothes are for me anymore. NONE!

I will not be wearing tight midriff baring tees with graffiti scrawled over the front, nor mini skirts or jeans with shredded knees that seem to only come in size zero through three. Nor am I ready to shop for shapeless body shrouds at Chicos. So what are my clothing options? I can’t live my entire life in yoga pants and t-shirts.

That’s when I began fantasizing about opening my own store. It will be called -

“Forever Forty-Six”

Everything in the store will be made from Spanx. Everything. Bathing suits, coats, even shoes. I will carry the REAL miracle bra, which will gather the odd estrogen-laced fat from your armpits and put it back where it belongs… Voila- you just gained a cup size! You’re welcome.

Seamless panties will be comfortable, breathable, and will stretch from just under your bra all the way to your knees…oh and they will be drop dead sexy. How, you wonder? I do not know. This is my fantasy- don’t ruin it.

I’ll carry camel-toe resistant jeans that lift your ass, and cover your entire buttcrack with a double enforced muffin-top eliminator. My tee shirts will be jiggle proof, and my blouses will tone your upper arms while you wear them, revealing only the cleavage on your chest, not on your back.

For Fall, I’ll feature turtlenecks which push the fat under your chin up into your cheekbones. Or your lips. Yes ladies, there will be two choices.

My best selling shoe will be the Optical Illusion Flat that tricks men into thinking you’re wearing five inch Manolo Blanick’s. Oh, and they come with invisible socks. Fuzzy ones.

Everything in the store will make you look like a sexy middle aged Katherine Deneuve, whether you’re black, white, asian, hispanic…you’ll look exactly like her in a rainbow of colors. Men will drop dead with overwhelming desire as you walk past.

My tag line: Nothing is sexier than an experienced woman who has lived well, knows who she is and walks with her head held high, covered from head to toe in spanx.

Yes, I think I’m going to be very, very rich.

Aging Gracefully? What's that?

Let’s talk about something really uncomfortable… It happens to us all, beginning the very moment we are born and continuing until the day we die. Aging. We watch people in our families and communities grow old, and eventually pass away. And yet, we’ve lived in some kind of strange denial that it will never really happen to us. We will never be old. Oh sure, we may joke around about being an old codger one day, but we don’t really mean it. We’re young, hip, cool, trendy. We can do anything; cartwheels, mountain climbing, running marathons. We hustle through life with kids strapped to our backs or on our hips, multi tasking, flying at the speed of sound. We can do it all until…one day, we can’t.

One morning you wake up and you’re achy for no good reason. One day you’re in a restaurant “playing trombone” with the menu. Or you catch your reflection in a window at the mall and you don’t recognize yourself. (Oh the horror of fluorescent lighting!).

Well, it certainly won’t be happening to me, because I’ve done all the right things. I eat the Doctor Oz foods, I exercise, and I use anti-aging products. Ha!

Those words “anti-aging” are a flat out lie! There is no way to stop aging unless you can stop time. We are all aging, and the sooner we come out of denial about it, the better we’ll all feel (and maybe if we weren’t so freekin’ stressed about it, we wouldn’t age as fast!).

I deeply resent seeing twenty-five-year-old airbrushed models in ads for “anti-aging” products. They want you to believe that this is what an older woman can and should look like. Again, let me assure you ladies, it is a LIE. You can take great care of yourself and have great skin, but you will not look twenty-five when you are forty-five. Let’s all embrace this truth. Okay?

I think it’s terribly sad the way we vilify the aging process, and cast out our elders. We push them far, far away from us. We put them in “assisted living facilities”. Keep them out of our homes, out of our societies. Pay as much money as it takes to keep them at bay.

And on some level we’re doing that to our aging selves as well. We bury our faces under injected synthetic fillers, and when that doesn’t work, we have surgery to remove our old faces and bodies. Oh, what will history say about this strange era we live in?

Personally, I am exhausted by the struggle. Every day I surrender a little more to the inevitable, but still there is this shame that creeps in to my psyche when I look in the mirror and I see the softening of my jawline, or the bags under my eyes in the morning. Although I know it makes no sense logically, I feel like I am letting society down! There are no longer any role models in the media who look like me at age 46. They all look 30. What I see on television and in magazines doesn’t reflect a standard that I can live up to, unless I give in and start injecting botox and restylene and get an eye lift…ugh.

This whole aging thing is hitting me right in the pocketbook. I have made my living as an entertainer, and suddenly, the gigs aren’t rolling in like they used to. The entertainment industry doesn’t find my aging to be a desirable quality. And so I suit up for inner battle with the toxic societal message that has subtly nestled itself into my subconscious, and it’s a particularly fierce battle because I live in L.A.

Dammit! I just want to look like me. I want to be authentic, and embrace the truth of who I am on every level. My face tells a story. I have pronounced laugh lines around my eyes, and smile lines around my mouth. I’ve laughed a lot in my life, and shouldn’t that be a good thing? I also have heavy eyelids, and circles under my eyes. Okay, so I’ve cried a lot too, but I’ve survived some dark stuff. My eyes are my badge of courage. And through them I am learning to see myself differently.

I can’t honestly think of anything truly positive about the physical process of aging. I mean, that part pretty much sucks 100%. I have not enjoyed losing my eyesight, my jawline, and my physical strength. I don’t appreciate that I have to work out twice as hard and eat half as much just to maintain my previous weight. Not fair at all. But on a deeper level, If we’re doing it right, we are growing better every day spiritually, emotionally, and intellectually.

Whenever I am struggling with a tough issue like this, I look for the positive and remind myself how much there is to be grateful for. So let me give that a try (grumble, grumble, grumble...).

For me, this is what is good, or even GREAT, about aging:

I am more confident and sure of myself than I’ve ever been.

I am at peace.

I have learned to roll with the punches in life, and to accept a lot of what I used to resist.

I don’t give a rat’s ass what others think of me.

I have raised wonderful children who I am proud of.

I have wisdom and experience.

I still have an adventurous youthful spirit.

I do yoga, run, hike, travel, and I plan to do so until my last day on Earth.

I am learning every day.

I have choices every day.

I am more patient with myself, and with others.

I have made peace with my past.

I am so grateful for the experiences I’ve had, good and bad

I am softer to hug.

I am softer.

So, aging gracefully? I’m not really sure what that means, or if I know anyone who’s doing it. I think what I’m doing personally is aging awkwardly, and begrudgingly. But I’m gonna keep on doing it every day, whether I like it or not. I can sail through it, or be dragged through it kicking and screaming (which I’ve done at times…). Perhaps sailing is the better (less painful) way.

I’ll tell you this - I wouldn’t go back to my twenties for a million bucks. And all the things I gripe about now at 46, I know I will be wistful for when I’m 66. So, note to self: Life is good. Shut off the noise coming at you from the media. Don’t look at the magazines. Appreciate the true beauty in your life, scratch beneath the surface for the deeper, better stuff.

And to sum it up, learn how to Age Gratefully.