Youth is beautiful! Why don't the young know this?

I asked the gym instructor if he could teach me to do the splits. He replied, “How flexible are you?” I said, “I can’t make it on Tuesdays.”



Hello my pretties!


I am not so young anymore and the rule is: if you are older than thirty, you should get off the internet, or at least don't hang out in young spaces and taint all the young people with your oldness, especially if you are commenting and stating how old you are to a bunch of young people. That is basically like spreading cooties on the playground. 


Well, I'm about to be the playground cooties spreader. 


I'm not so young anymore (I won't state my age, but let's just say I could by my kid's grandmother.) And as I get older I'm noticing changes: my skin is not beautiful anymore. Which is weird, because I never thought my skin was beautiful, but now that it's gone, it was beautiful. My never muscular body has lost all of its muscle definition. I get rashes all the time (is that an age thing? It feels like one.) My hair is faded, although I haven't dyed it in years. But my skin is different and because of that, I feel sad that I never appreciated the beauty of my youth. 


I thought I had to fit into a tiny definition of pretty in order to be pretty. I never saw my own beauty because I was too busy looking at the beauty of others and feeling ugly. Now I am missing what I never saw in myself. But if I never lost it maybe I never would have seen it. 


Don't get me wrong, I am enjoying lots of things about getting older, the clearer understanding of the world, wisdom, and I don't even mind looking older, but I am getting tired of being called grandma. Maybe it's time to dye my hair again. 


Happy National Old Stuff Day!


With love and kisses and cheek pinches,


Sophia Skyy


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