Fabulous at any age

It is a tradition almost as old as time for people, especially women, to fib about their age.

When young, people often want to present themselves as older.  I recall, my sister telling people she was almost 5, days after turning 4.  And I remember how delighted I was, when at 13 and 5'7", people frequently assumed I was at least 16, if not 18.  And let's not even talk about all reasons people might wish to procure fake IDs.

I was twenty-four when I started my current career path, a position that includes advising university and college administrators on solutions that will support and/or advance their business.  I was told my that, regardless of my expertise and knowledge, my youth would be held against me (it was), so I should wear more make up and dress more conservatively (read--less flatteringly), to disguise my youth and gain credibility .  Fortunately, after 21 years with my company and almost 19 in my current area, I don't have to worry about credibility based on perceived age or experience.

I am currently in that other time of life, the time when people start to fib in the other direction.  Somehow, around 30 or 40 we start wanting people to perceive us as younger than we really are.  People frequently, miraculously, stay at 29 or 39, whichever seems remotely plausible for years, even decades.  Media floods us with ideas about how those are really the most desirable ages and after that, as long as you look those ages, it's perfectly fine to claim them.

I've never quite cottoned to the need hide my age.  I liked being thought of as mature or wise for my age when I was younger and enjoy instant the instant credibility my age gives me now that I'm older.  This point of view has, apparently, been subtly presented to my daughters.

The other night, the subject of age came up at dinner for one reason or another and my husband joked to my daughter that "Mommy is only 29."  To which, my eldest daughter responded, with crinkled nose and raised eyebrow, "no, she's not, she's 42."  My husband laughed, "your mommy is 39."  Again, brow furrowed, E replied, " NO, Mommy is 42," and looked at me for explanation to this nonsense.

I told her "some people think that being older makes them less beautiful, so they tell people they are younger than they are."

I truly wish I had been video taping the conversation so I could have caught and shared the look on her face.  Her expression said without a doubt that was the most absurdly, unbelievable thing she had ever heard in her life--this utter disbelief from a child who is in full belief of fairies and magic and Santa.  I lauded her greatly for her priceless and beautiful expression, telling her that hers was the exact right response.  "That is exactly right, baby, it's total silliness.  Mommy believes she, and most everyone else, gets more fabulous with age, not less."  She nodded, her expression reading, very clearly, "well, DUH."

May she always, always feel that way--may all our daughters feel this way.  May we all.

The Science of Beauty aka Unhelpful Areas of Research

While I am a huge fan of science and appreciate the benefits of scientific research and discovery, I find the line of research regarding what makes a person physically attractive to be unnecessary at best and seriously damaging at worst.  What set me to write this little rant are stories that, ironically, both came from HuffingtonPost.

The first article and others like it on the "science of beauty" are exactly the things that lead to people ending up feeling they are not pretty enough (touched on in the second link), a much more serious and destructive issue than, I think, some people realize.

Short video on the science of beauty (just one of far too many available on the subject)

Other HuffingtonPost 'article', this one on how "outrageous" it is that someone would tell another person they are not pretty enough

So how about this, big "thinkers" and researchers, instead of trying to track down and limit by strict definition how we process and define beauty, why don't you work on how to expand the horizons of people's definitions of beauty.  I'm really tired of reading about how this feature or measurement is ideal and this is not.  It's not a healthy barometer.  Let's do more research on what makes some people have a much broader spectrum of perceived beauty and how to help others expand theirs.  If you start now, by the time my daughters are old enough to read/listen to this type of research there will be things on the topic of beauty worth reading and hearing.

And in the meantime, I will work on teaching my daughters that human value and real beauty cannot actually be measured by a ruler or color chart.

Jen Tress's website. Read the shared stories and see how damaging these superficial measurements can be. And how strong people can be.

Lessons in Beauty from a Four Year Old

We took our girls to a family reunion in the Outer Banks. From the moment they saw the beach it was next to impossible to pry them away from it. They are part mermaid, I'm sure of it.

The beach was littered with all sorts of shells, including many black scallop shells. I started picking up the black shells. There were so many that I started getting picky, putting down any shell with chip or holes. I wasn't sure what I was going to do with the shells I collected but I was going to have perfect specimens for whatever it was.

As I was collecting my "perfect" scallop shells, E decided she wanted to collect shells, too. She grabbed a sand pail and in about 2 minutes she had it filled. She was very proud of her haul. She had picked up anything—oyster shells, broken shells. She had no plan, no specific preference. I wanted to tell her to leave the dull gray oyster shells on the beach, they filled up the pail much too quickly. I did tell her to slow down and that she might want to concentrate on just the really special ones. She picked up another oyster shell and said, "This one is special." I did not agree but I didn't argue. I just watched her enjoy the collection and went back to gathering perfect black scallop shells.

We brought our pails back to the house and left them on a table on the deck and went inside. During the night some strong winds knocked over our assemblage of shells. I saw the toppled over pails and I figured I'd lost a couple of my pretty black shells. I wasn't particularly concerned with E's shells; half of them were broken when they originally went into the bucket.
As I walked over to the table to pick them up I noticed that my pile of black scallop shells looked rather flat and unremarkable. E's various shells were more interesting.
E was right, her shells were special. Even the oyster shells had character. I mixed my black shells with hers and made a temporary little shell collage and gave thanks for a daughter who knows beauty isn't about perfection.