Occasionally, I’ll ask Luca to help me out when I need a writing prompt, a good title for an essay or some other creative endeavor. Lately, his typical reply is “deez nuts.” It’s a slang term meaning—well, testicles, I guess—but also saying it is meant to disrupt or disrespect. I’m not sure he really knows all that; as a new middle-schooler, he’s trying out all sorts of terms and behaviors. I, as a relatively safe Gramma, am usually one of the beta testers. We were at Old Navy recently and the sweatshirt he wanted wasn’t available in his size. “Shit,” he muttered and glanced my way. I decided to let that one pass. I think Luca says “deez nuts” because it sounds funny.
However, I find myself echoing that phrase lately when I happen to catch sight of the skin on my arms, legs or face as it cascades downward rippling like wax on a Chianti bottle. “Deez wrinkles!” I exclaim. They just keep showing up! And disrupting the image of what I think I look like.
The other day I walked to the drugstore instead of driving the quarter of a mile there in an effort to get my daily steps in. It was warm enough to feel comfortable wearing my shorts in broad daylight and head down Main Street to pick up some essentials and treats for Luca. (Wait, aren’t treats essential?) As I walked back, I happened to glance down at the sidewalk to make sure I wasn’t stepping on any cracks and some movement on my legs caught my attention. What was moving on my legs? Was that my skin? Jiggling like those pictures you see of race car drivers’ faces in Utah breaking the land speed record at the salt flats.
A couple of years ago, after pretty much never having had the body I wanted, I decided to lose the weight that bothered me so. I lost about 40 pounds until my metabolism—or some other ironic and vengeful aging process—brought the weight loss to a screeching halt. So, I started exercising more. (I know…who am I?) I upped my daily step count and Angelo and I started going to the gym. When we both realized we were mostly only using the rower and the treadmill, we quit the gym and bought a rowing machine so we could exercise at home. (Seriously…who are we??)
Even with the added exercise, I still wasn’t losing any more weight—in fact I gained some back—but eventually I could tell my body was changing. My jeans felt more comfortable and my legs had some definition. Muscles appeared in my arms and my face thinned out. So, the fat went away, but the skin remained. And just hung there. Wrinkled. I once described such a feature is just skin that stopped trying. The funny part (hilarious, really) about all of this was that I kind of didn’t mind so much. I feel a lot more comfortable in my body—more than I have in years. Even as the wrinkles keep showing up—I swear, they multiply like rabbits—they don’t really deter me from feeling good about myself. Sometimes I wish I had done this earlier, when I could rock a two-piece or a belted anything and felt confident that I looked my best. But I feel that way now.
And Brooke Shields backs me up: at 56, she has to work harder to look a lot less like she did in her youth, but she’s fine with it. Because she’s still going after the things she wants. She said, “There's a sense of pride, I think, that comes with [getting older].” And this is after she appeared topless in an ad for Jordache jeans.
Don’t worry…that’s not on my To-Do list. What is on my list is staying healthy and somewhat fit. To lose the fixation about what I look like and focus on what I am, who I am to others. To maximize the confidence I feel into developing more creative endeavors and opportunities to provide for my family. Maybe I could write a book about that!
But I won’t ask Luca for the title.
I can definitely relate. Wrinkles - disturbing but inevitable if we’re still here. I’ll accept that as paying my dues - again.