In a Soft Light
The other day I overheard a conversation between two women. One of the woman said, “I feel so old.” She then proceeded to describe how her hips were painful and she might need joint replacement surgery. The other woman, well-meaning, replied, “Oh, don’t say that! You are not old.”
The exchange broke my heart in a million little ways. Being old is not a moral failing; it’s not a “bad” place to be. Living with pain is no joke and seeking medical help is a mature and sensible move. This is a fact. I am old. And this is a part of my life. A part that I have longed for and waited for. A part that I love, even though I live in a world where being old feels like something to be ashamed of.
This morning as I was getting dressed, I moved the small portable LED touch lamp to the vanity area. I wanted to keep the light dim as my husband was still sleeping. I often get dressed in the shadows of the early morning without turning on any lights at all. The overhead lights feel too harsh for just waking up. And, if I am honest, I do this because looking at my old body in the bright light is a harsh reality. My reflection is proof that my body is no longer new, even though I remain ever curious and youthful on the inside. But in the soft light of that little lamp, I almost glowed. Smooth curves and glistening skin. There was a kindness in my gaze and love for this body that has carried me so well. That one simple change, softening the light, made all the difference. Suddenly, what had appeared to be too much became just enough. Seeing myself in this light, it became easy to forgive myself. Instead of holding onto pain, I am letting go to make room for all the beauty this life has to offer.
I am seeing myself in the softest light possible.
