Y’know, I’m not a very vain person. Sure, I like to try to look nice as much as the next person. But I have no problem wandering out of the house to run errands with no makeup on. I don’t get extravagant haircuts or manicures. When I had more disposable income, I liked to splurge on a few fancy products, but I’ve never been under the illusion that they were somehow better than the cheap stuff, or did anything magical.

I don’t need a lot of time primping in front of the mirror, and I don’t match my bag to my shoes. I’m what they call “low maintenance”. I can spruce up nice for an occasion, but for day to day, I’m fairly basic. If I look clean, neat, and have my underwear on the right way round, I call it good.

But I’m getting more and more concerned with the signs of aging. Up until recently, I’ve always been told I look younger than I am. People routinely guessed my age at a flattering 26 or 27. And I feel young. Hell, I feel years younger now than I did 10 years ago. I keep my hair dyed and moisturise religiously. i try to stay relatively fit and semi-firm. I quit smoking in large part because i didn’t want to wind up with the drawn and sallow look of long-term human chimneys.

Lately, however, the greys seem to be cropping up fast and furious. In between dye jobs, there are the telltale little white sprouts, and they seem to be multiplying. The other day I was noticing a new wrinkle and trying to figure out what caused it (since it didn’t seem to be an expression line from smiling or frowning) and came to the conclusion that it was from squashing my face into the pillow, night after night. this past year, I’ve noticed just how creaky my body is actually getting. and my metabolism certainly ain’t what it used to be.

it occurred to me the other day that if the average life span of a woman is 78, then I am due to hit middle age in just 6 years time.

I don’t want to feel old and frumpy – but increasingly that’s what i see when i look in the mirror, and it’s so discouraging. I see people who are only a few years older than myself and think how haggard they seem – and worry if I am headed for the same fate. a scary prospect. i know there are contributing circumstances, but really – how different can their lives be from mine?

i don’t think i look old – but the idea of a growing mismatch between my exterior and my interior is distressing. i don’t want to spend time and energy chasing a youth that can never be recaptured. yet I worry that if i just accept and embrace growing older, that the process will only accelerate. i admire people like susan sarandon, who age gracefully aand naturally. But I have to wonder how much of that is due to good genetics, living a good life, or a fierce behind-the-scenes battle to stave off the inevitable.

i realise you can’t stop the march of time, but maybe if i’m lucky i can figure out how to slow it down to a lazy stroll.

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