Just let me be: a rant

This selfie was taken during a thunderstorm at Kitty Hawk, NC, when we were caught in a thrilling lightning and thunder extravaganza that soaked us to the skin. If any picture could capture who I am at this moment, it's this one—no makeup, no hairstyle, just me, soaking wet, as I truly am.

Since turning 60 over a year ago, I've found myself muttering under my breath many times, "Oh for Pete's sake, just let me be 60." I don't want to hear that 60 is the new 40, or that I can erase the lines on my face with some miracle cream or routine. And I certainly don't want to feel pressured to "turn back the clock" with cosmetic surgery. Now, when I see a woman of undetermined age, I often ask Alexa how old she is and then make judgments, because deep down, I probably want to look 40 again. In the US, anything but youthful, fresh skin is seen as old and irrelevant, and we keep buying into this myth—this weird western tick.

As a woman of a certain age, the constant pressure to look younger is exhausting. It's time for me to say, "Just let me be 61!" Let me have wrinkles, lines, sagging skin, grey hair, and thin lips. Why do we women  fight every sign of aging with such frenetic energy.  It's just so weird. 

I can't figure out what I should wear, what hairstyle I should have to make me look ....what? Not 61?  Who really cares anyway, we are all so myopic in our own selfies. 

This is a rant post...periodically I will be doing this.  Fist to the the sky, raging into the unknown.