Last Thursday I scheduled an hour long hydrating facial at a local spa. I am 60 years old, its the middle of winter, and I don’t always drink enough water, all factors contributing to dry, alligator skin. I arrived on time. A lovely 20something year old aesthetician prepared me on her warmed table. In the darkened room and with relaxing spa music playing softly in the background, she asked me to tell her about my skin care routine.

“Well I use moisturizer, (no need to let her know it’s usually hand lotion), I clean my face in the shower, and since I love to be outdoors, I am trying to be better about using sunscreen (cut her off at the pass, since I know she will lecture me about SPF).” Her next intrusive question was what do I clean my face with? “Um, water.” She informed me that if I didn’t exfoliate my skin, with all those dead cells hanging around, no moisturizer would penetrate anyway. When was the last time you were schooled by someone half your age?

In my real life, I am generally a confident person: I like who I am, I am comfortable in my own skin, and I am okay with getting older (its a privilege many wish for and never get to experience). Being on this spa table with my face being examined under a bright inquisitive light has reduced me to adolescent angst and insecurity. I grew up Mennonite where make up, hair styling and jewelry were not permitted. Especially with make up and skincare, I am the first to acknowledge there is a gaping void in my knowledge. On my last birthday, a dear friend gifted me with mascara and eyeliner and most important, instruction on how to use them.

Its not that I am not as vain as the next person; I too want to better myself and present my best side and imagine that I can pass for a few years younger than my biological age. Partly it’s what I don’t know and partly it’s my annoyance at investing the amount of time needed for beauty care. I would just rather play with my dog outdoors or go on a hike or laugh uproariously with a friend while scooping up chunky homemade guacamole with chips.

Here I am on this spa table, defensively explaining to this dewy skinned 20something that I am not afraid to spend money for skin care. I detail to her how I have had a series of chemical facial peels (lovely skin for the 2 months that it lasted). I have purchased series of skin care products with good intentions but they sit idly on my bathroom counter collecting dust. I have had more than my share of electrolysis (just imagine an electrical shock going one by one through a whole crop of unwanted hair follicles!), only to discover that hair growth is controlled primarily by hormones. In other words, it will return. My aesthetician did suggest dermaplaning treatments for me for unwanted fuzz. “We recommend you ingest prescribed enzymes as well. Yes, each treatment will last for at least three weeks”. Only three weeks???!!!

It was a lovely hour, filled with many potents and organic substances: rhubarb masque, licorice root cleansers, and coconut oil moisturizer. By the end of the facial, I was assured that my skin looked dewy and the wrinkles had been plumped. I felt like a slick fruit salad. I was detailing the process to my sisters via text and they insisted on a before and after pic. Perhaps my skin did glow in the awkward selfie I took in the safety of my car. With all those bottled options, it should at least have prepared me lunch.

Two hours later I went to the gym and worked out with a trainer. I lifted heavy objects, I squatted and lunged, I balanced and stretched and rowed and managed to sweat off all the dewiness. And I was so happy. Finding value from being strong and having a body that does things (skies down mountains, has energy for daily life, bounds around a tennis court, drags a heavy trashcan up the driveway) has always been so much more gratifying than taking pleasure in my appearance. I am not saying that I don’t care how I look; I just care much more how my body functions. Living with a man who embraces you just as you are is also a gift I would wish for every woman.

We females are conditioned to put such value in our appearance. This becomes shaky ground as we start to age and see ourselves change. Why would I want to try so hard to eliminate my laugh lines? I have earned every single one of them. Why would I want to inject substances into my face to create smoothness so that nothing except my mouth moves when I smile? Why would I view savoring luscious crusty bread as poison to my body (unless there is a true medical reason not to), but be willing to insert needles’ full of neurotoxins into my forehead, and then repeat again in three months?

There is room for a myriad of opinions here; I am simply stating mine. No judgment if you make different choices. I do feel that we women are often exploited by the beauty industry, with promises to “reclaim our youth.” As I grow older, what matters to me as much as my own personal vanity, is what I am conveying to those coming along behind me. What am I teaching my daughters and granddaughter to value? Am I smoothing out the path for their feet and showing them how to age? I feel the weight of that task during this season of life. For me, staying physically healthy and strong is as much a part of the equation as doing internal psychological work. I also value retaining the ability to change and not become fixed in old habits.

I remember being twenty years old and wondering how it must feel to be old, like sixty?! Let me tell you, I feel the same inside, but the mirror doesn’t lie. One dewy facial, while lovely, does not reverse the process. If you too are in the third trimester of life, I am curious how you mentally adjust to this season of life? And if you are still young, what do you value and hope for when you are old? We are all on the same path; some of us are just more aware than others. And for the record, yes I do adjust the grey creeping into my hair.

Finally, here’s a book that Larry and I have enjoyed in the past year: “From Strength to Strength: Finding Success, Happiness and Deep Purpose in the Second Half of Life” by Arthur C. Brooks. Perhaps you will find it helpful as well.