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I Don’t Want to Never Age; I Want to Age Well.

·459 words·3 mins

“Oooo glamping!” the three old ladies cry.

They’re walking by our campsite — dubbed a glampsite by the proprietors because we have some cool amenities lumped into the deal — power walking down the trail, all wearing the most beautiful sparkly hats. The sequins on their hats catch the sunlight. It’s a scintillating effect to be sure but one quickly outshone by their personalities.

I’m sitting with a friend outside our tent-cabin hybrid, enjoying the gorgeous morning.

“Is it nice?” one of them calls to us.

We tell them it is. They take a look around our porch area and agree. They note the nice fire pit, the grill, and the hammock.

“Was all this here for you when you checked in?” they ask. We answer that some of it was. But that we did have to pack in our own food and other supplies.

“Did you have a big strong handsome person to carry everything up for you?” They joke, saying that’s glamping to them.

We laugh. They scurry away, leaving a cloud of merriment in their wake.

It’s such a brief interaction, but my friend and I grin. “I want to be them one day,” she says. And I agree. The women who spoke to us had silver hair and wrinkles — but they were gorgeous. Vivacious. Lively.

I’ve known so many people who are scared of aging. I’ve had a couple of ex-girlfriends who were nigh-obsessed with it. One was even in high school. We were both children then, even — my 15-year-old girlfriend with absolutely flawless skin told me her greatest fear in life was getting old. Looking old. (I was 16.) Countless others I’ve known have poured thousands of dollars into skin care regimens, praying to all things holy and unholy that their faces won’t crease. Won’t change.

I summarize this to my friend as we sit and say, “I don’t know about you, but I have bigger things to worry about than what my skin is going to do 10 or 15 years down the road.”

She laughs. Agrees.

Later, my husband joins us back at the site. He too encountered the dashing trio on his way back from the shower house. He tells us that they were so nice. Wanted to know if he had a good morning. All of that.

Sounds like they might have even be flirting with you, I think idly. And then, Good for them.

And as my camping companions begin to chat about other things, I think about how happy I am that I’m growing older. I don’t want to never age; I want to age well.

Maybe one day I’ll travel in a pack, all of us wearing sparkly hats and making conversation with young strangers.


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