“How much of our youth do we squander worrying about not being young any more?”
—Ashton Applewhite, The New York Times
I noticed my first real, deep wrinkle before I turned 30. It streaked across my forehead, a rogue disclosure of the pain I was trying so hard to hide back then. Two more wrinkles—perpendicular to the first—developed in just a few turbulent months in 2014. I don’t furrow my brow much anymore, and certainly don’t feel as sad these days, but the lines are still there in spite of every effort I’ve been told I should make to get rid of them.
I’m noticing some new lines now: laugh lines around my eyes, and some little crinkles around my mouth from too much time spent smiling to myself. You know what? I think I’ll keep these. I’ve earned them.