There were many times when I heard people say 'oh smile lines are lovely! They are the best kind of wrinkles!'
And I would nod, all the while thinking 'are you kidding?! No wrinkle is a lovely wrinkle.'
Then I would go home and smother my eye in some ridiculously expensive cream containing extracts of a rare melon. Or minerals from the dead sea. Or the blood of a unicorn. God only knows.
I was a little resistant to aging. I felt as though time and my fine lines were advancing quicker than my emotional maturity. I was soon to become that old loaf of bread in the bargain bin. Still soft on the inside, but crusty and hardening on the outside (I apologize for that horrific metaphor, bear with me).
And then I saw the photo above. The photo that is focused specifically on my eyes with a 1.2 f-stop blurring all the rest. My smile lines are in their infancy, but they are very real. My temples and cheekbones are peppered with tiny sun spots. There it is. Aging. Close up.
But for the first time, I looked at a photo of my quiet aging process and I didn't feel the same dread. My heart didn't drop into my stomach as I was forced to face my own vanity. This time, I admired those lovely little lines.
Because I realised that when a face radiates peace and happiness, a few little lines never hurt anybody.
Much love XX