In dirt lots, through concrete cracks

On highway overpasses, choked with fumes

Plants don’t perceive barriers. They grow

Subtly, silently, lushly, without a complaint

In the most inhospitable of environments

Demonstrating beauty amidst the barren landscapes

Grace in the face of adversity

People are like that too, yet…

We just have to remember that.

* * * * *

It has been many months since I have participated in Six Word Fridays. I miss it. I have grown so much in my new life in Boston, and hopefully I can share my experiences with you again in the near future.  PS. Next up is six weeks in Madrid!

Yesterday was my 45th birthday. As we were cuddling in bed, my 7-year-old Layla, who of course didn’t know that I was contemplating the march of time and the toll that it is taking on my body, looked at my temples and said, “Mama, you have a few gray hairs…but that’s okay.” Apparently, she does know that gray hair means aging and that many of us are NOT okay with that.

Last night I had a debate with a good friend about plastic surgery, namely boob jobs. My first response was that I didn’t want my daughter to even know that people surgically change their physiques because I didn’t want her to start looking critically at her own body. My friend argued that if surgery made a woman feel good about herself, what was the harm? Generally, I’m in favor of people having the freedom to live their lives as they see fit, but I must confess that I had a pang of frustration when discussing it with her. If women resort to artificial means of staying young and perky, it worries me that it puts pressure on our whole sex to keep up with the times, as it were. I wonder, especially with the media’s influence, whether or not, society has a realistic notion of what a 40-something woman looks like. And deep down inside, I am feeling a little insecure as I see changes in my own body that I don’t necessarily like.

Recently I confessed to a married friend that I feel that the pressure is even higher for those of us single middle-aged women who are looking to attract a partner.  Most of the men that I view online say that they will date women ten to fifteen years younger then them, but very few will go much more than a year or two older. Now I know that isn’t just about looks, but when I look at my ten-year-old’s baby pictures, I can’t help but notice that I do look different than I did a decade ago. Nevertheless, I don’t have the financial means to undergo plastic surgery, and even if I did, I don’t think I could willingly put myself under the knife.

Even more importantly, I am philosophically opposed to it. I want middle-aged women to be considered desirable and sexy. I want gray hair to be deemed chic. I hope that we can look at wrinkles and age spots, and say that they are the signs of a life well-lived. Nevertheless, there is that little voice inside my head that wants my 30-something looks back. How do I reconcile those competing viewpoints?

Well, I’m not sure. But in the meanwhile, as my friend Naomi Shulman noted in her NYTimes piece proclaiming the appeals of her cushy tushy, I have a young girl that is watching me age. And you know what, she is right, gray hair is okay. And even if most women I know dye their hair to get rid of the gray, I am going to dare to be unique. And unique can be pretty hot.

One of the lessons that I keep teaching my kids is that they need to make the best of what they have. For example, Jonah struggles with spelling and math, while his little sister is a whiz. Yet as a result, he has learned the power of hard work and persistence. Struggling with our own self-confidence and sense of attractiveness is not only natural but also an opportunity to develop other strengths.

So, here I am at 45, and that’s okay. Not only am I still physically attractive, healthy, and fit, but I also have an inner wisdom and sense of peace that I did not have ten years ago. I am more relaxed and easy-going. Each day I wake up with excitement to see what life has in store for me. I have a great new job in a wonderful new city, and soon I leave for six weeks in Madrid.

My little girl, who showers love on me daily, is wise beyond her years. I am okay. In fact, I am more than okay.

You can't see the gray hairs, but you can see the lovely earrings that Layla got me.

I’ve been feeling unwell, not sick,

Just cranky, and not quite myself.

Hurt, frustration and fear have welled

Up inside of me, pestering me.

I tried to call upon wellbeing.

I opened my door up wide

And invited her in, cajoled even,

Okay, maybe I insisted she come,

Which is never the most seductive

Way to attract a desired guest.

So I backed off a bit.

I left her well enough alone.

I put extra effort into my

Teaching and grading and did yoga

And read with my kids and

Made comforting stews and banana bread.

Watched American Idol (a guilty pleasure).

Things that I have control over.

Things I know how to do.

Sure enough, she slowly found her

Way back, like a repentant lover.

I have to declare that living

Well is still the best revenge,

Even if really, truly, you’re only

Feeling vengeful against your own fate.

* * * * * * *

This post was brought to you by Six Word Friday.   One more word of wisdom about living well from my yoga teacher: “Don’t wait until you are dying of thirst to dig a well.”