Tonight I am wistful as I witness the demise of my youth. I’ve just had a fantastic evening out with my son, my mother and her boyfriend, and my sister and her husband. We spent the evening at Il Fornaio. I split a carpaccio with my sister, had a plate of cappelacci di zucca and half a bottle of Falesco Vitiano. We had a great time...one of our typical gatherings with great food, some good wine and lots and lots of laughter.
The waiter was so cute...so young. And I am ashamed to say I flirted shamelessly. Ehhhhhhhhh...I am not growing older gracefully, I’m afraid to say. I am fighting it every step of the way. My body is showing the ravages of time...but my head still erroneously thinks I’m a teenager. When will I just relax and accept that I am growing older. It’s not that I WANT to be younger...really! I don’t want to go back at all. But it is painful to see the slow and inevitable aging of my body while I remain young inside. When will my mind accept what my body already knows? Oh sure...we mature. But what about the yearnings we still have? What about our passions? I still have them and feel them with the same exuberance I felt 20 years ago, but somehow tonight I feel on the slippery downhill slope.
A couple of weeks ago as I was dropping my 12 year old son off for school, I noticed dark areas at the corners of his mouth. I leaned toward him for a closer look and said with astonishment, "wait..are those...are you getting...do you have whiskers on your upper lip???" He looked directly at me and without missing a beat said, "why not...you do." You can certainly imagine how fast that visor mirror came down and, my face shoved into it, I began searching out the offending folicles. This NEVER happened when I was young! And then...same child...a couple of weeks before that made the offhand comment that I was too old to have an imagination.
Is it a wonder I am having these thoughts?
Perhaps my wistfulness tonight comes not from wishing I were younger, but from the realization that this life as I know it...which is not a bad life by any means...is likely what I shall have from here on out. It’s not possible for me to be complacent for I am always looking forward to the next escapade and adventure. But are the surprises and momentous occasions of my life over? It it time to remember that I am, in actuality, a middle aged woman? I have had my marriage and my children...I have seen a child married, a grandchild born and buried. I have had my share of joys and sorrows. I have been ridiculously fortunate. There is still half a life to live and although I know I will do it well, it is somehow without the great expectations that I had in my youth. The hopes and dreams I had as a young woman are radically different from the reality of the life I know. Not in a bad way, mind you. Simply...different...not as I thought things would be.
Hmmmm...perhaps I should just lay off the Falesco Vitiano. No doubt when the sun comes up tomorrow I will feel the same optimism I feel each new day and these tendrils of doubt and apprehension, self-absorption and pessimism, and this wallowing in my own personal pity-party will disappear with the night.
It is probably wise to disregard all the above.
Ciao é buona notte.
By the way...London was AWESOME! Paris was…pretty good. But I am desperately missing my beloved Italia.
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