Twenty years later, I can touch my toes and run a few, steady kilometers. In the last year, I dove with hammerhead sharks in the Galapagos, hiked up a volcano in Guatemala and played my ukulele in a tiny home I built along the gentle shores of Tasmania while sipping local gin.
Kindly, at 27 you sure should be able to touch your toes. At 67 I can flatten my palms on the floor. And this morning I leave for Africa where I will be scuba diving with whale sharks, riding with giraffe, elephants and zebras at full gallop in the Maasai Mara, and exploring and writing about Kili adventures (which I did myself, summitting at the age of sixty). This is what I do for a living. And, with respect, I didn’t even really begin to hurl myself into all these athletic pursuits until past sixty.
I get your point. But you are not even HALF my age. That you should worry about being or looking older is deeply distressing, and symptomatic of a society that forces us to focus on age, when that’s the wrong question. While I get your message about experiences, I might suggest that I hope to hell that you wear SPF. As a born and bred Floridian, I too loved the sun. Today I look like a human Dalmatian with all the burnt-off pre-cancerous lesions. It’s not worth it.
You concentrate on the external: hair skin, smiles, etc. That is what we are told to focus on: always and forever the external. Like you I was mistaken for all kinds of ages at all times in my life. At some point, with any grace at all, we stop giving a flying shit one way or the other. Ultimately it’s HOW we live, not how we look. We can spend all our lives being obsessed about a pimple or we can get out and live.
It’s important to take care of our bodies, which I most certainly do. But at some point, worrying about how young we look sucks the very life out of how we live. These are general statements, and please take them that way. I see this kind of ageing and youth focused ( and, often, obsessed) article all the time. I realize I’m shouting into the wind, but it’s worth a try.
And no I am not rich. I would be had I not spent untold treasure on shit that didn’t work. What does is lots of good food as defined for our unique bodies, move move move, lots of friends and a purpose larger than we are, rather than am I pretty or young or handsome. In the biggest scheme of things nobody cares. They do care how much you love, give, and show up no matter how you look.