I am 50. Take a good look. No makeup. No botox or fillers – ever. Freckles on my schnozz. A ruddy complexion that, as you can see below, I was born with (so I have the complexion of a newborn – haha). I still have the uneven fuzzy hairline. I can stand to lose a few pounds. No special lighting or photoshop tricks. Just me.
And though I LIKE granola, I am not “granola” – I enhance my looks. I color the few white hairs around my face to my natural dark brown. I wear concealer to hide the darker circles around my eyes. I apply lipstick and mascara daily… sometimes eyeliner across the top of my eyes, which fades quickly. I have whitened my teeth a couple of times.
I have fine lines. I’ve had a crease in my forehead for years. I don’t want to hide my life by altering my face. I want my face to reflect that I am not 20 or 30 or 40. No age is the new lesser age – I can’t stand when I hear that in the news. I don’t feel any different than I did at those ages. I feel like me – just fine & healthy. And that number – 50 – surprises me when I apply it to myself. How does it define me? What’s the perception? What are the limits, if any? And do I care? Instead of musing about this, I have been BUSY – not a moment to post this until right now. That’s a great beginning.
I celebrated my new decade with close friends and family last month. I got the BEST cake thanks to my friend Anne Flynn – “Celebrate This” – a play on my JUICE THIS® juicing kits with the “Red Carpet Menus” treatment to the style of the cake – my very own star! It was so good! And a directive I am following through with – CELEBRATE THIS – all of this. My people, my life, my business, my accomplishments, my successes and my disappointments. YES!
I feel like this is “my time” to soar. I’m continuing to realize new and evolving dreams NOW. I was lucky enough to live one 3 weeks ago when I helped raise a wonderful amount of money for The Westchester Italian Cultural Center’s children’s programs with my 2015 Oscar® menu. It’s just the start.
I will not go gently into any age or conform to societal definitions of what I’m supposed to say, wear, do, be. When I hear contemporaries say they’re old it’s bad enough, but when they say WE’RE old, I want to punch them.
Old is tired. Old is useless. Old is done. I am far from that. I will be old the minute my heart stops beating and not a moment before. My parents haven’t gotten old yet and still have more energy than me so my examples are clear.
So although I usually tout food and my projects here, I thought today I’d indulge myself and serve up some food for thought. You might see my 50 year old face and say “yeah, she looks every day of 50 and then some” and heckle me. Or you might ask me how I “look so good”. Or you might take a look at yourself and redefine the marks on your face that explain the wonders of your life.
I am excited to be able to dance through the VIP velvet ropes of a club where you can only gain access by having lived to 50 – no youngsters allowed (ya know, those 49 and less). And I will never bemoan my “lost youth”. I will strive to be admitted to all the exclusive clubs ahead of me.