Letter to My Teenage Self

Dear Teen Self,

Remember that muggy, summer afternoon when you and your friends sat in a circle on your bedroom floor, your fingers raking through the tired, flattened shag carpet while you all pondered whether you’d still be alive in the year 2000?  (And then the silence that followed while you tried to do the math in your heads?) I’m here to tell you that you made it. As the clock struck midnight at the turn of the century, you were in Las Vegas with your husband and kids. You had just turned 37. Ancient, I know. No flying cars or teleporters, as you all had imagined. But then, you never imagined the internet. You also never imagined you’d be happy.

I guess I should introduce myself. I’m you, at 53. (Ancient, I know.) I traveled back through time to tell you a few things that just might have changed your life. The first and most important thing is this: although life looks bleak, everything really is going to be okay. It is. It’s not going to be easy, not by any stretch, but it’s going to be worth it. You’ll see.

In the meantime, here are a few other things I want you to know.

You are perfectly fine, just the way you are. Forget your Herbal Life diets and your Ayds appetite suppressants and your bust exercisers (and the chant that goes with it: we must, we must, we must develop our bust). One day, when the internet comes along, you’ll be able to do your own research about what’s healthy, and you will find out that (contrary to your mother’s opinion) 125 pounds at 5’5” is not overweight. So, that’s one thing. And being small breasted, though great fodder for boys to make jokes, will be a godsend as you get older and gravity takes its toll. Also, blow it off when the boys in high school call you “facehead” because of your round face. Sure, it makes you look younger now, but it will also make you look younger later, and that’s what counts. (A little insider info: those boys will drunkenly hit on you at your 20th high school reunion, anyway. But I digress.) Bottom line: You’re young. Enjoy your young, imperfect body. One day you’ll be deeply nostalgic for it. 

Wear sunscreen. Please. Your 53-year-old face bears five deep scars from skin cancer surgeries. Don’t bake in the sun trying to be someone you are not. Let the boys express horror and shock and pretend to be blinded by your pasty white legs. Let them call you Casper the Ghost as much as they like. In a few years, punk rock and Madonna are going to come along and make pasty white cool, anyway. And then you’re really going to regret those blistering sunburns that kept you laid up in bed. That tan that you worked so hard for will one day turn to wrinkles and age spots and leave you on a cozy, first-name basis with your dermatologist. Trust me on this one.

After the fifth skin cancer surgery. Not worth the teen tan.

Be you. The only true job you have in this life is to be your authentic self – exactly who you are, flaws and all. I know there’s no way you’re going to tell your cheerleading squad that your dad’s doing time in San Quentin and your single mom works nights in a bar. That’s okay for now. The “little miss perfect” thing will soon grow old, and those superficial friends who accepted you will eventually abandon you. One day in the future, you’ll have the courage to tell the world who you really are, and it’s only then, when you show your flaws and vulnerability, that your true friends will find you. These friends will stay forever. And the greatest friend you will ever have? That would be you. So take good care of yourself. Treat yourself well. Be kind to yourself -- never judgmental, critical or cruel -- because the world will reflect back the the way you treat yourself. I really wish you had known this a lot sooner.

Some bad things are going to happen, and that’s okay. Your parents might let you down, disappoint or even abandon you. Some friends will betray you. There will be times that you will be broke. A troubled, stupid boy, or maybe a parade of them, will break your heart, and you won’t even believe it’s possible to hurt that bad and still be alive (wait until childbirth). People you love will get sick. People you love will die. And there will be moments that your life feels so hopeless and pointless that you won’t want to live. But you will, and please do. There are things in store for you - miracles, things you never could have imagined - that will blow your mind. I promise you, you’re not going to want to miss it, so hang on.

And finally, don’t sleep with that guy. You know the one I’m talking about- the one you know isn’t right for you, but you’re trying to make it right because you are so desperate to be loved. I’m telling you, it’s not going to end well, and you’re going to suffer the fallout from it for decades. So please…don’t do that. You deserve better. And if you’ll just be patient, one day “better” will show up. That’s a guarantee.

Oh, and one more thing. SMILE in your senior picture. Who cares if you have braces. You look better when you’re happy. That will always be true.


With love (and I finally mean that),

Your Ancient 53-Year-Old Self

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. 

Judge not...or do. Whatevs.

“When you judge someone, you do not define them. 

You simply define yourself as someone who needs to judge.” 

– Wayne Dyer

We all make judgments every day; I like this, I don’t like that. I don’t like the way he drives. I like the way she dresses. We pick and choose what’s right for us from the judgments we make. But most people spend an inordinate amount of time talking about and judging others. (…aaand that’s why we love reality TV.)

I used to make judgments on my friends lives, because I was a “fixer”. I’d obsess over their missteps; “Why does so and so keep choosing the same abusive guy?” “Why is so and so spending money she doesn’t have? She’s going to end up in debt!” And then I’d set out to “fix” them. A lot of my sentences began with “What you should do is…” until one day a friend spoke up. “Let me make my own mistakes. I’ll deal with the consequences.” And I totally got it. It was her journey, and she’d find her own way, just as I had to find mine. Maybe she needed to be with the wrong guy to learn something about herself. Maybe she needed to go into debt to learn how to manage money. Who knew? It wasn’t my job to fix anyone but me. And it was time I switched my focus.

I spent the next decade in and out of therapy, doing yoga, meditating, reading, unraveling my past by writing a book. I was intent on fixing my own issues. I would still be a shoulder for my friends when they had a problem, but I listened, and put faith in them to solve their own problems.

In doing this long decade of inner work, I realized that none of us is perfect, and mistakes are a necessity in this school called life. I forgave myself for my flaws and my own missteps. I accepted myself as an imperfect human being in an imperfect world, and that’s when things began to shift inside of me.

When I stopped judging myself, I no longer felt the desire to judge others.

When I made peace with myself, I was at peace with others.

When I was happy with me, I didn’t need anyone else’s validation.

When judgment and criticism came, I no longer doubted myself, because I knew where my heart was centered.

The greatest thing about getting older is the wisdom and inner peace it can bring. When my heart is at peace, I like myself. It’s okay if others don’t like me. I like me.

I am careful with my words and judgments now. I certainly slip up more than I should, but I bring myself back to center by reminding myself of Maya Angelou’s wise words:

"A person’s speech is a mirror to her or his soul."

Every day I ask myself, What do my words say about me?

“Judge not, lest ye be judged.” That’s what the bible says. But even if I choose not to judge, others will most likely still judge me. But you know what? It’s none of my business what anyone thinks about me.

It’s not my job to prove to anyone who I am. My job is to be the best me I can be, and to keep myself centered in a positive place.

If I do that, my life will speak for itself.

I'm Not Qualified for Anything, But I Do It Anyway.

Amy Ferris and I had this  conversation the other day and decided we'd blog about it together. Mine is below, and Amy's is linked at the bottom.

Every time I start to panic about money, and start looking for “real jobs”, I am daunted by how unqualified I am - for everything.  I truly am. I’ve joined every networking and job search site. I spend hours going through the job opportunities but don’t qualify for a single one.

You see, back when I was a youngster in college, I believed I wasn’t as good as the other bright young kids. I was damaged, flawed, hiding a terrible secret about who I really was -the daughter of a convict. I let that feeling overtake me, until the anxiety attacks caused me to drop out of college. So I never got a degree. And these days, you can’t get any kind of decent paying job without one. I was a college dropout with no experience, other than waiting tables. I ventured out into the world with nothing but my heart’s desires to lead me.

I had no business experience, but at 20 I started a craft business, selling at fairs and local shops.

I had no design degree and couldn’t sew,  yet at 27, I started a children’s clothing business. When I couldn’t find fashions I liked for my two kids, I designed my own. I didn’t know anything about the clothing business, but I asked. I learned. I read. And within a few years my fashions were in Fred Segal and Macy’s and in the window of Barney’s New York.

I don’t have an MBA or any music education. I can’t even read music. But at 32, when I couldn’t find anyone to put my music out into the world, I started my own record label. I ran a small ad in the local paper stating that I was doing business (DBA), and got a business license. I found a manufacturer who did small runs at a decent price. I had a friend who wanted  an “executive producer” credit, so he paid the $3000 to manufacture the Cds. I had no right to, but I put out two albums on my own record label, and got them into Tower records and selling worldwide at CDbaby.com.

I’m not a licensed teacher, have no degrees in social work. But at 37, I wanted to use my music to help kids, so I started a nonprofit, teaching music and art to teens in foster care. I knew nothing about nonprofits, how to set them up, how to run them. I found a free seminar put on by L.A. County and they taught me everything I needed to know.  I called the head of music therapy at Cal State University of Northridge, set up a meeting, pitched my idea and we shook hands on a deal. He put his faith in me based on not my experience, but my intent, my sincerity and my true desire to help. Later that year, we put on a fundraiser. I had never done a fundraiser. I had no marketing degree or experience in that arena. I bought books. I called people who knew how to do this. I took them out to lunch and asked questions. What I’ve found is that, generally speaking, people are happy to share their knowledge. We got Michael Mc Donald, Christopher Cross, Dave Koz, Karla Bonoff and Stephen Bishop to perform at CSUN, for free! We raised enough money to provide a full year of music therapy to autistic children.

All from a girl with no qualifications.

I don’t have a BA in English or MFA in creative writing. I just write. Every day. Ten years ago, I found the only writing group in town- a Senior Citizen’s community writing class. I went every week for two years, just me and all my adopted grandparents. Eventually, I wrote a book, and started a blog, and sold some essays.  And now Amy Ferris and I have sold an anthology.

Would all this have been easier with a college education? Hell yes. But just because something isn’t easy, doesn’t mean it isn’t possible.

I’m not qualified for anything, but I do it anyway.  And yet lately, I feel depressed and worthless because I don’t get callbacks from the jobs I’ve applied for, because according to them - I’m not qualified. Six months with no response. I’ve let it make me feel worthless, even though, when I think of my past accomplishments, I know rationally that’s not true.  But when life knocks you down, it’s easy to forget what you’re capable of.

I think it’s important for all of us to keep a mental running list of the things we HAVE done, the things we never believed we could accomplish: Raising a kid, keeping a marriage together, surviving disasters, landing jobs, volunteering, working, refurbishing a home, learning a skill… I mean, think back to when you were young. Did you ever in a million years think you’d _______(fill in the blank). We all surprise ourselves by doing things we  never knew we were  capable of. And yet society, and even well meaning friends and family, will try to dissuade your from following your dreams. I say f*ck that. Do what you want to do. If you’re not qualified, and have no money, and no one supports you, do it anyway!

If we limit ourselves by what society wants us to believe – that there is only one way to success, that we don’t have the qualifications it takes, that our dreams are impossible -  then we  miss out.  As far as I know, this is the only life we have, and all those “one day…” and “someday…” dreams? If you’ve hit middle age like me, Someday is Today. Right now. So do what you have always wanted to do, and don’t let anyone tell you you’re not “qualified”. 

You are here,  you’re alive,  you have dreams- that qualifies you.

Step into your full power. I dare you.

(are you listening, self?)

Please share with me today…I’d love to hear about something you’ve done in your life, that you never imagined you could. 


For Amy Ferris' brilliant companion blog "When I Grow Up", click here:
http://marryinggeorgeclooney.com/blog/2011/07/17/when-i-grow-up-2/

Why I’m a Terrible Gardener

I’m truly a terrible gardener. I so envy those of you with your flourishing english gardens in Southern California. Oh you, with your lovely spring vegetables, showing up with bags of ripe, plump tomatoes on my doorstep- you amaze me. For years I’ve described myself as having a brown thumb. I love the planting, and the watering, and the letting it grow part. But good gardeners tell me that you have to prune things back, cut off the weak and dying parts that are draining energy from the rest of the plant. Now that’s the part I’m terrible at. I feel “bad” about cutting dying branches and blossoms. I think…maybe if I just let them be, it’ll be okay. I don’t want to hurt the plant. So eventually the plant withers and dies. Then I feel bad about myself, and take blame for killing the plant. I’ve also made bad decisions about trying to save injured bees, who eventually sting me and fly away. But sure enough, I’ll do it again. Hmmm...

So yeah…I guess you could say gardening is a metaphor for my life. I’ve been stung many, many times over the last forty-odd years, and in my garden there is a family (of origin) tree that is very sick. My own spirit has suffered and wilted because I didn’t take the necessary action when I needed to. I never pruned that tree, even when it was killing me.

This week I had the most beautiful, warm, heartfelt Christmas with my own family- surrounded by my husband, three children, daughter-in-law and grandbaby, and Troy’s sister. I was completely restored, happy, uplifted knowing that my own family tree is an oak. Solid, tall, strong, invincible. It was a perfect holiday, if I didn’t look outside of my own four walls.

Because outside in that family of origin garden, there were withering branches, fungus, infestation on the vine, pulling energy away from my own spirit, as much as I tried to ignore it.

So today I did it. I pruned an unhealthy branch to preserve my own heart. It scared me to do it, but once it was done it wasn't such a big deal.

Troy asked me how I felt afterward.

I said I felt like I finally stood up and took care of myself. And you know what? I didn’t feel bad. I can feel the sun on my face, the nutrients rushing back in. I feel healthier, stronger, and more hopeful.

Maybe this year I will finally blossom.

Maybe I’m learning to have a green thumb after all.

Hey Jealousy- Part Deux

(Oh sequins...the mortal enemy of mid-life woman...)

I’m picking up the thread of a blog I wrote a couple months ago. It was a story about a time when I got caught up in envy and, dare I say it, jealousy. The life lesson was this: jealousy has nothing to do with anyone else but me. When I feel the slightest twinge of that emotion, it’s a red flag that I need to take a hard look at my own life. That person – the object of my envy- must have something I feel I’m lacking, so I better get my own butt in gear and correct it. In fact, it’s a great exercise to closely examine what you are jealous of, and ask yourself what you could change in yourself in order to not feel that jealousy any more. If you follow the trail of emotion inward, it leads you to your heart’s deepest desires.

When I’m happy in my own skin, following my bliss, I never feel jealous of anyone. And I’m happy to say that I haven’t felt jealous in many years. I mean, I’m not saying I haven’t had my opportunities! Just last Saturday I was on a gig sharing the stage with a much younger, much thinner, much LOUDER singer. And the costume I had to wear….oh, the humanity! Try squeezing a skintight yellow sequin dress over your spanx (humming to myself in the dressing room: nowhere to run to baby, nowhere to hide) then stand on stage, under bright lights mind you, next to a gorgeous twenty-five year old wearing the same dress all night. But believe it or not, even that didn’t bother me. I thought…Eh, let her have her moment. I was once twenty-five and stick thin…I had that moment already. It’s her turn to shine. You know why I wasn’t jealous? Because I’m pretty happy, and because I know there’s room for all of us to be who we are, just as we are.

These days I am in the company of some mighty, amazing, strong women writers and a friend asks me the other day – isn’t there competition and jealousy amongst all of you? And I said No, you know what? There’s really not. At all. Because each of us has our own voice, our own unique perspective on the world, and we share it in the way that only we can. I don’t write like any of my friends, and they don’t write like me. Some of them are much funnier, much more direct, much more poetic, fluid, dark, light…and that’s what’s so great about it. We all get to be exactly as we are, so there’s no competition. Like my girl Oprah says – do “you”. Nobody can do you better than you.

The bottom line is: There is room in the world for more than one insight, more than one pretty twenty-five year old girl, more than one brilliant book, great song, piece of poetry or artwork. There’s room for every blooming flower in the garden.

So no, I’m not feeling the jealousy. Not at all. And god it feels so good. You know what doesn’t feel so good? Squeezing your 46-year old ass into skintight yellow sequins. So wrong…so wrong…

It’s All How You Look At It

Recently I watched a fascinating documentary on elephants. There was an alarming escalation of elephants rampaging through Indian villages, trampling people to death. Generally speaking, elephants are peaceful, but something was changing them, and this filmmaker was seeking to unravel the mystery. He was able to trace back the beginnings of most of these rogue elephants, and what he found was striking. All had witnessed their mothers being murdered by a poacher when they were babies, and that seemed to have imprinted violence onto them. (There’s your proof that elephants do indeed have a long memory.)

Sometimes it just came down to the fact that an elephant had endured years and years of torture by it’s trainer/captor, and finally snapped one day. Aside from the heartbreaking subject matter, what really struck me was how these abusive captors kept the elephants from running away – they simply tied a thin string around the elephant’s foot. Of course an elephant could easily break this string, but he doesn’t believe he can. You see, the sad truth is when the elephants are babies, the trainer keeps them chained by the foot. The elephant is beaten into submission and can’t get away. After a while, he stops trying. He becomes so conditioned to his captivity that a simple string tied around his foot makes him believe he is powerless.

I thought long and hard about that. I think the people who end up going on murderous rampages are the ones who could never break those strings. And aren’t we all, in some way, living with a string tied around our foot? I mean, for the majority of my adult life I lived with the limitations imposed on me in my childhood. My childhood no longer exists, my circumstances are completely different, but I was still attached by that string. I believed I was powerless, that I didn’t have a right to speak up, that I wasn’t a deserving person. Thanks to a good therapist, and the support of my husband and friends, I sawed through that string…but it wasn’t easy.

Still, other strings remain. A biggie is fear of failure. Right now I am standing on the precipice of so much possibility … but I’m afraid to jump. I’ve finished my book and am about to start sending it out into the big wide world, and I have some other things in the works, things that are new and therefore scary. I’m having nightmares every night, giant snakes swallowing my ponies of optimism, ants invading my body, and, strangely, Cameron Diaz stealing my jewelry (have no idea what that was about). I don’t know why I should fear failure, I mean, I’ve failed fantastically in the past….many times. I failed to the point of bankruptcy, and I’m still here. So what’s the big deal? I might fail? Who cares.

God, it’s like when I was watching that documentary and I’m screaming at the elephant through the TV screen…just RUN! And then I imagined him looking back at me with a bubble over his head: Look who’s talkin’!

I think it’s time for me to break that string…

Women Living Fully - Retreat With Us!

PEEC Pocono Environmental Education Center Presents:

Women Living Fully ...investing in ourselves

Oct. 24 – 27, 2010

Imagine yourself nestled in the beautiful Poconos this Fall, your only goal to rest and indulge in self discovery. Imagine meeting like-minded women who come prepared to explore the same questions that run through your mind constantly... “Now What?” ...“Who Am I?... “How do I make the most of the life that is ahead of me?” “...What is it to be a true friend - to have a true friend?”...“What matters the most to me at this time in my life?”... “How can I make a difference in the world?”

PEEC (Pocono Environmental Education Center, Dingman’s Ferry, PA www.peec.org) is holding their first annual Women’s Retreat, and have invited inspiring authors, wellness and financial experts who will gather to explore all of those questions and more.

You will be spending your days with award winning and internationally published authors and other experts, including:

Amy Ferris: Author of Marrying George Clooney: Confessions of a Midlife Crisis, and A Greater Goode, Screenwriter; "Mr. Wonderful" and "Funny Valentines"

Kristine Van Raden & Molly Davis: authors of Oprah's pick Letters to Our Daughters, founders of www.mattersthatmatter.com.

Monica Holloway - Actress and author of Cowboy & Willis and Driving with Dead People

Gregory Anne Cox - Life coach, culinary expert and founder of midlifewithavengeance.com

Amy Litzenberger - Financial expert and life coach.

Robyn Hatcher - Actress, Writer, Communication Skills expert, founder of Speaketc.com

Elizabeth Geitz - Author of five books, including "Soul Satisfaction" and "Entertaining Angels" and faculty member of the CREDO Institute.

Hollye Dexter - Singer/Songwriter, founder of Art and Soul Programs, and author of "Only Good Things" www.blogspot.hollyedexter.com

This one of a kind retreat will provide an insightful and inspiring program highlighting the things that are vital to women in mid-life, and encourage living life to the fullest. Topics range from living authentic and meaningful lives, financial well being, health and wellness to the need for women to move beyond competition and towards mutual support, completion and collaboration.

All offerings will be participatory and introspective, inspiring and challenging. Sessions will include a combination of teaching, discussion and thoughtfully designed writing and thinking exercises.

Space is limited.

Cost is $560 which includes lodging, meals and all workshops & activities. To register:

Call - 570-828-2319 and ask to register for Women Living Fully

Grrrrrrl Power

Don’t get me wrong, I’ll never be offered membership to any militant uber-feminist club, because I love my Dior mascara and my high heeled shoes and my pushup bras too much, and I’d be hard-pressed to give them up. But I’ll tell you what - I am sick and tired of being told through the media that as a woman I need to alter myself to be acceptable. As if it weren’t enough that we are ridiculed for not having big enough breasts, or being too fat, we are constantly being told through print media, ads and our celebrity population that we must shoot ourselves full of botulism and chemical fillers so that we don’t offend anyone with our age. We are blasted nonstop with ads for plastic surgery, diet products, anti- aging blah blah blah….And this past week I saw not one but TWO stand up comedians making fun of women for having pubic hair. They joke about it as if it so crude and unnatural for a woman to have pubic hair. What’s unnatural is for a sexually mature female to NOT have pubic hair. (and believe me, never in my life did I think I’d ever be blogging about pubic hair)

The message being sent through the media to all women and young girls is this:

To be acceptable in our society is to be perpetually young with a thin, narrow boy-like body, the large, full firm breasts of a lactating mother, and the bare genital area of a little girl.

Did you get that? Read it again, and then think about it.

Why are women held to these sick, twisted standards? We look back in horror at how the Chinese used to cripple their girls by binding their feet to achieve their standard of beauty. But look at us, America, the land of the free. Are we really free? We mutilate our bodies through surgeries and injections, implants and extractions, always striving for that unattainable notion of perfection which doesn’t exist. We are slaves to an unreachable standard of beauty, and are subtly encouraged to feel some level of shame for not achieving it.

Even More magazine, which is a magazine for women over forty, airbrushes their cover models then tells you “This is what 45 looks like”. No! That is NOT what 45 looks like- that’s what airbrushing looks like.

And this ugly message of “you are not enough” is affecting our daughters. Last night I sat with my Japanese daughter-in-law as she cried and cried over gaining three pounds in her eighth month of pregnancy. No matter how much I told her how beautiful she looks, and how normal and healthy it is to gain weight in your pregnancy, I couldn’t erase her shame. In Japan, she told me, no one will love you if you’re fat.

This is craziness!!!

As women we have got to RAIL against this damaging message, and stop it from being passed down to the next generation. So what can we do, each of us, to stop this? I need to come up with some ideas before I start going all “Eve Ensler” on someone’s ass.

Here is MY message, as a woman, to ALL media and stand up comics, and I hope you'll say it with me:

I am a REAL woman, with real breasts and hips and smile lines.

I will NOT conform to your unhealthy standards. I will stand in my truth and learn to love myself just as I am.

Oh and by the way, Barbie can KISS MY ASS!

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.