Politiks 'n Blahniks: don't waste your youth growing up

via weheartit

I've noticed something about myself lately . . . I've been an age-ist. When I read magazine interviews of young celebrities or women, I always go straight to the "comma-age-comma." It was as if that was the determining factor of what I thought of them. If someone is younger than me, I think "wow she is so young and pretty." *envy* If someone is older than me, I think "eh, she's gorgeous but she's old." *indifferent*

Today, I watched The View and some of the women refused to disclose their age. How do they consider themselves strong, feminist women??

Our society promotes the idea that women should look forever young, skinny, and perfect . . . and they're always on the hunt for the next fresher, younger face. When we can't catch up, we feel down on ourselves. It's like the way Apple promotes its products- you get the iPad 2 yesterday thinking you have the newest, hottest gadget. Then the next thing you know it an iPad 3 (or worst, 2.5) comes out and you were yesterday's news). Perhaps that was what was going on with me. Perhaps this explains my constant wiki of celebs or models' age-weight-height, my anti-wrinkle skin regimen, my juicing diet . . . Actresses and models seem to be getting younger and younger as I just keep growing older. It's like a big tease.

Then I thought about Diane von Furstenburg and how she's embracing the fact that with age comes wisdom. She is beautiful in every way and embraces herself - wrinkles and all. She is my idol. It's so odd because I'm not even out of my 20s and I'm already acting as though I'm this middle-aged woman going through a crisis. Perhaps this is merely a quarter-life symptom?

Speaking of which, I just finished watching "Under the Tuscan Sun" (by myself, of course) and I cried. I cried because I felt her pain. Why? I do not know, because I'm not in my late 30s, divorced and alone. I'm the opposite actually, but why did I feel her pain and romanticize of moving to Italy and buying a quaint 300 year old villa? I'm telling you, my last life as a single European woman trying to find love but instead finds serenity in herself is creeping up on me.

Why am I so scared of growing old? Why am I letting this fear take over my youth? Living is a beautiful thing, and so should growing old. I've let magazines and the media distort this idea and affect the way I think, that I'm not taking in all this greatness of NOW. If I could, I wouldn't go back to my high school years (though they were full of happy, independent moments); I wouldn't go back to my college years (though they were some of the more fun, easier years); I would definitely not go back to my post grad years (the struggling years) . . . so here I am - at the culmination of my law school years, transitioning to the professional career woman I've been striving to be. So taking me right to the wonderful here and now . . . 26 is a great age and I'm barely one month into it; I won't let it fly by so quickly like the past years. It's also a reminder to myself that with every age brings something new and exciting . . . and instead of looking back, I should be looking forward - to all of the exciting years to come.