Entry 38 : The Fear of Wrinkles

I don’t know when people generally start having mid-life crises’, but around a month before I turned 33, I started having this fear of getting wrinkles. It started with a conversation I had with a friend who casually mentioned her skin routines involving facial masks and exfoliating which led me to be filled with this feeling of oh shit. I am 33 years old and I haven’t moisturized daily, ever. Or exfoliated or done facial masks. I am going to wrinkle!

Since that initial freak out, I have found myself perusing the skincare aisles of every store (particularly Target) and stocking up on preventative wrinkle care.

I suppose there’s nothing wrong with taking precaution, but it has led me to think about why I find it so important to not age. Aging is inevitable, people are bound to wrinkle and develop puffy circles are their eyes and grey hairs. But why was it so important to me?

That is where it hit me : my self worth.

I am by no means a supermodel, but I’ve been called pretty and take pride staying in shape (or at least trying to) . But I suppose that is all I can see as being worth anything. I know it’s no use to mope around with that sort of mentality, and ultimately I have the power to change my life to make it something I’m proud of; it’s all in a matter of actually doing it.  While its really hard to break free of that when beneath those layers, there is that lack of self-confidence, I’m going to try to make it my resolution this year to snap myself out of that. … on top of fighting wrinkles.

Anyways, until next time.



Entry 19 :Birthdays and Getting Old

I turned 32 a few week ago. It’s weird to say that. Thirty-Two. But that is how old I am.

The student workers at work guessed I was 23, then 25, then 27 and for a brief moment I thought about lying and saying something like  yes, I am 27, but in the end told them inescapable truth.

Wow, they responded.

Whether or not it was a wow of wow you’re old  or a wow of wow you look amazing, I couldn’t quite tell. But then again, that is a summation of my current level of coolness: I can’t read young people anymore. It makes me feel really old to say “young people” and to not be able to group myself as “young” anymore, but I can’t read them, I can’t relate to them, I can’t even understand what they’re saying when they’re saying stuff like ratchet, or turnt,  or Netflix and Chill. Well, now I do because I just found out that it was it’s another term booty call, but seriously….since when did slang become so coded? It’s not even like current slang means the opposite of the word anymore; it doesn’t even come close to the literal or opposite of the literal meaning of the term.

But I’ve quit trying to understand it all. At a certain age you just have to, because if you try to understand and keep up with it all, it just becomes rediculous.

It’s kind of like when newly divorced middle aged men start wearing Affliction shirts because they think that’s what will get them all the vagina, young and gross. (Gross). This is the true story of an ex CFO of mine:he got divorced and started wearing seven jeans and affliction shirts and would invite all the cute office girls to go to the casino with him after a couple of drinks at a work Happy Hour. It was really awkward.

There probably are a few of you who are like….Winter, you’re 32, that’s not old. and I agree, it’s not. However, the age of being young and careless and wearing slutty clothes to clubs and going out til 4am, for me, has long long passed. I’m a homebody at heart anyway and the older I get the more I realize I prefer to netflix and chill – in the literal sense. Actually in my house, its more like netflix and knock out on the couch, and then wake up with a cramped neck at 4 am, but like I said, Im totally okay with that.

Entry 15 : Becoming A Jaded Old Asian Lady

The idea of being “old” is subjective: some consider the age of 30 to be old, others think of 50 as over the hill.  And then there are those who believe that one’s attitude towards life defines the perceived youth, regardless of actual age.

With that being said, the older I get, I find myself being a jaded old Asian lady, more often than not.

Case in point: husband and I went out to eat at this restaurant/bar in the University district a few months ago. The place was full of college kids: sorority girls who wore short shorts that hugged just above cusp of their butts, and were matched with off-the-shoulder sweaters that labeled the Greek sorority letters of “Alpha Beta Phi”. Or was it Alpha Beta Zeta? I know there is probably some sister out there who, slightly offended, is like… “actually, it says Beta Sigma Chi”, and to that person I say, “whatever. I really don’t care”.

There were also the frat boys who wore hats that said “Pimpin” sideways on their head and sunglasses inside the restaurant because they saw a rapper do it in a music video so surely it wasn’t an idiotic thing to do.

And then  there were other kids who were neither sorority or frat, but who were just hungry for the burrito that – at this point in their lives  – would not result in a weight gain of any sort

These young adults were so full of hope and a sense of optimism; seeing them in the vibrancy of their youth made me want to  roll my eyes and just be like, ugh…..  I hated that I felt that way, but I couldn’t help it.  Perhaps it was because I had been like them once: so innocent of the world, full of dreams, and with no concern for existing credit card debt, paying mortgages, or the fact that poop needed to picked up on Mondays because Tuesdays was trash day.

More so than that, these young people represented a time in my life when I was insecure, overly shy, and so concerned with what the world thought; there are so many things I wish I had done differently. Like, I wish that when sitting next to Brandon Roy (UW  basketball player back in the day, went on to play for the Trailblazers)  in anthropology class, I hadn’t been such a dork with my “So you play basketball… are you any good?” line. Shit,  I very well knew he played basketball, and very well knew he was the best player on the team.  He never sat next to me again, probably because he was like this chick is weird . I sigh in regret every time I think of this interaction; it could have been the start of a friendship that would have opened up a friendship with other basketball players.

While there are other shoulda, coulda, woulda moments from my formative years that I wish I could do over, what I have learned  in growing older is that I can either sit and sulk in regret, which will undoubtedly lead me further into a pathway of jadedness and get me no where in life, or I can look at every experience with a sense of gratitude for teaching me a life lesson that has helped me grow into a better person. My choices – good and bad – have led me to the road that I am in now. Which to be honest, is a road that is blessed beyond measure.

And so, when in the midst of young people who are living in the vibrancy of their youth, I remind myself this: I had my time; this is their time. Besides, life now is great, I may be older and may have lost my limberness and some perkiness in my boobs, but at least I’m not {as} naive and broke. Well  – I personally am broke,  because I technically don’t have a job, but as a combined income with my husband…. well…. you know what I mean.