Aging in a Youth Culture

I was -- as I do quite often -- looking at Phoenix today. This is what I saw:



Now, for those of you who don't remember, this is how he looked when he was a puppy:


Phoenix is four and a half now, which makes him about thirty seven in human years. He is, therefore, very near my age. What made me do a little thinking today was his gray hair. Like for me, his weight and his gray hair are telling of his aging body.

And then, there was this other thing that happened yesterday. My yoga instructor had botox injections. In discussing her injections with a few of us students, I found that several of the students that I admire (all of these women are very slim, fit, and seemingly healthy) had had them, and they began a discussion about permanent makeup tattooing. I found myself looking at my face in the mirror for a long time last night. And today, I was looking closely at Phoenix.

I can remember wondering why people color their hair. That was before the gray started. Now I color mine fairly regularly. In ten years when I am the age of my fellow yoginis, will I be trying botox too?

Then, of course, I begin to look at my culture. Why are we afraid of aging? I feel strongly that youth is lost on the young, yet I do color my hair. I met a new doctor the other day who told me that I looked nineteen, and that she couldn't believe my age. I found myself both offended (I mean, do I dress like a 19-year-old idiot?) and pleased (I must be aging gracefully).

Which is it? Much of my youth was spent wanting to be older... wanting to be 14, because that was my lucky number; wanting to be 16 so that I could drive; wanting to be 18 to be out of high school; wanting to be 21 so that I could have a beer. Now here I am, 36, and I'm grateful if someone cards me to buy a bottle of wine.

I have a "friend" who won't admit to ANYONE how old she is. And, she is only my age. Again, I ask myself, why all this hoopla over age?

I guess this is not a new problem, and yet it is new. Less than 200 years ago, at my age I would have been nearing my downward spiral. I would have been ready for my children to care for me rather than only beginning to have children.

I look at the silvery hair now covering a face that was once copper. It is a sign of our years together. It is also a sign that he will not always be here with me. Is that what we are fighting? Our looming ends? Or is it, as I tend to think, that we want to die looking good (like those people on television and movie screens)?