The Secret to Aging Beautifully.
Yesterday on Instagram, I flicked through at least a dozen images and videos of an Olympic Pole Vaulter turned yoga teacher with impossibly long legs and zero belly fat (actually zero butt fat, zero leg fat, zero arm fat, zero neck, cheek and forefinger fat. No fat. Just legs and ribs.) And these legs and ribs were doing the most incredible yoga poses; you know, the everyday stuff like the splits up some wall in her house (I mean I’d do that daily too, but I just hate grubby toe marks. THE. WORST.), back bends over jagged rocks and some sort of warrior pose stretching across those wooden poles that define the sandy pathway to the beach (I know, they always scream out to me to do that too.)
This Olympic Pole Vaulter with her lean body, long limbs, trendy active wear and RID-IC-U-LUS flexibility is beautiful.
The sort of beautiful my kinda chunky body, short limbs, reliable and practical active wear, and super-tight-heave-towards-touching-my toes-hamstrings, is never going to be.
Also yesterday, I took my regular water aerobics class at a local retirement village. As is the nature of senior’s water aerobics I see a lot of aged-bodies. Scars from various surgeries. Skin losing its elasticity. Bellies hanging over the tops of thighs. Boobies hanging over the tops of bellies. Faces with more wrinkles than a linen shirt left wet in the washing machine all day.
But I see beauty.
After that class, I go to an aged care hostel where I take a man in his late fifties, who sadly has been diagnosed with early onset dementia. I walk him around the centre three times a week. In the hostel I see men and women who are frail, non-verbal, incapacitated, incontinent, scared and confused.
But I see beauty.
The beauty I see in these circumstances isn’t instagramable. It’s not body. It’s not clothes. It’s not luscious hair, long eyelashes or pouty lips.
It’s in the way Wilma talks about her grandchildren. It’s in the way Antoinette genuinely thanks me for taking the class. It’s ninety-year-old June telling me about her recent overseas trip. It’s ninety-three-year old Keith laughing at himself when he can’t quite master some of the moves. It’s Mary, helping out around the lodge like she’s an employee, not a resident. It’s Joy, who hums in a very particular way when her husband comes to take her for a walk. It’s Nancy, who only ever ventures out of her room when the Delta Therapy Dogs arrive. Her weary, tired face lights up with happiness.
We ogle over the traditional dimensions of beauty. And I think that no matter how BOPO (‘Body Positive’: I’m hip like that) we are, there’s a tiny lil’ bit of us that looks at such images and wants it; the long legs, the flat belly, the high cheekbones. Things that are more than likely, in some way or another, unattainable.
But smiles aren’t unattainable. Manners are easily accessed. A sunny-side-up view of the world is within your reach. A cheeky smile towards your partner can be done. Laughing at yourself – easy. Spending time with your loved ones, going on adventures around the world or just appreciating nature, will make you more beautiful than you know. And it will last. It will last until you are in a retirement village, an aged care home or just sitting passing your time left one earth, at home.
Years from now we won’t be able to pick an Olympic Pole Vaulter from a Champion Pie Eater. And the one that will shine with beauty won’t be the one doing gobsmacking stretches across the bowling green. It will be the one that smiles. The one that laughs. The one that engages with people. The one that loves life. The one that loves people and people love them.
If it’s the long-lasting beauty you are striving for, work on your zest for life.