The Ledger

By Patricia McClellan

I have officially reached the age where I can walk into Walmart in my pajamas, without makeup, with my gray hair showing, and still sleep just fine that night.

In fact, I did exactly that the other morning.

Not only was I wearing my pajamas, but there wasn’t a drop of makeup on my face. I let my wrinkles and blemishes shine for the whole world to see. At this point, if somebody is close enough to count my wrinkles, they’re standing entirely too close.

There was a time when I wouldn’t have dreamed of leaving the house looking like that. I would have changed clothes, fixed my hair and put on enough makeup to convince everybody I had slept more than four hours.

But somewhere along the way, I decided I’m too old to pretend.

I’m too old to keep sucking in my stomach every time somebody walks into the room, too. I’ve spent enough years holding it in.

While I’m at it, I am going to stop positioning myself in photographs to hide my muffin top. My contortionist days are over.

I’m not trying to win any beauty pageant at this stage of the game.

And if there’s cake?

I want the cake.

I’m done pretending I don’t want dessert while secretly watching to see if anyone else takes the last piece. Life is too short for that kind of nonsense. Hand me the fork.

I’ve even stopped coloring my hair. I’m embracing the gray. I like to call it “natural highlights,” because “I got tired of paying somebody to chase my roots” doesn’t sound nearly as glamorous.

And don’t be jealous when I tell you what I do on Friday nights. I fold laundry in front of the television. Yes, I know how to have a good time.

I’m still a night owl, but these days, eight o’clock is the new midnight. If I make it to 9:30, I feel like I’ve been out until the rooster crowed.

The funny thing is, getting older hasn’t made me care less about life. It has simply taught me to care less about what other people think about mine.

I’ve spent enough years trying to look the part, say the right thing and make everybody else comfortable. These days, I’d rather be comfortable myself.

So, if you see me at Walmart in my pajamas, gray hair and no makeup, just smile and keep walking.

I’m not falling apart.

I’m finally becoming comfortable in my own skin.

And if you happen to be carrying a piece of cake, you might want to slow down.

I’m too old to pretend I don’t want some.

Until next time, keep rocking and reflecting.