Looking Forward to Myself at Forty
I've been looking forward to turning forty since I was twelve,
and here's why. Years ago, I picked up one of the magazines that
my mother or my grandmother had tossed aside, and started to
flip through the pages. One article caught my eye. Its theme was
beauty at all ages, and it featured women of ages ranging from
eighteen to sixty-something. Perusing the photos, I decided then
and there that forty would be my year.
The eighteen-year-old was gorgeous. Of course she was gorgeous.
She looked like your typical supermodel, a dime a dozen. Every
magazine features scads of gorgeous eighteen-year-olds. Big
deal. Let's see if they stand the test of time. I flipped the
page.
The twenty-year-old looked about the same. Drop-dead gorgeous,
natch. Perhaps there was a more knowing look in her eye, a
little spark of something that comes with experience. It might
as easily have been a trick of lighting and makeup.
The thirty-year-old was attractive, but her eyes reflected that
"deer caught in the headlights" uncertainty. Every hair was in
place; the tiny lines on her face just enough to add a bit of
"character." Her makeup was flawless, her dress was lovely. But
there was something missing. Even at twelve, I knew what that
elusive, missing quality was. It was confidence.
And that's where the forty-year-old shone. I turned the page,
and there she was. That was the look I hoped to see in the
mirror by the age of forty, and that was the look I knew
instinctively could take a lifetime to earn. Confident, and
serene. Eyes that sparkled with warm humor and the ability to
laugh at herself. Her eyes spoke volumes, but this was the gist
of it: "I know who I am, I know what I want out of life, and I
have arrived.."
We'll see in a few years if I've earned it, or if I'll have to
wait another decade to see that face in the mirror. It's been a
long time since I saw that photograph, but I'm still looking
forward to meeting myself at forty.