Our culture glorifies youth, flawlessness, and perfection. I wonder how many dollars are spent each year on anti-wrinkle cream alone-I’d be willing to bet that the American cosmetics budget could probably feed several starving nations.
What seems funny to me is that wrinkles are earned by laughter, by tears, and by smiles. They are the evidence of life’s joys and sorrows. Not to have wrinkles as we enter the “seasoned” stage of our life is a sign that we did not truly live, that we were untouched by the world. The emphasis on flawlessness almost seems like we are not proud of the moments that touched our hearts the most and were the most poignant reminders that we are human.
Maybe the gray hairs and wrinkles wouldn’t be so bad if we were less concerned about the opinions others may have about our blemishes, and reveled more in the memories that put them there.