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Copyright © 2020 CORA ANN

Learning to accept the aging process.

When I was six years old, the aging process was a bone of contention with me. Back then, I had amusing concepts about growing old. My childhood naiveté led me to believe I would be a mature adult at age 16. I would be middle aged at 21. And at 33, I would qualify for Social Security and need someone to help me cross the street.

As I grew older, things changed. Now that I am on the north side of 39, I don’t really think I’m over the hill, at least not yet. I went through a phase of denial reminiscing about my amusing childhood misconceptions about aging. Reluctantly, I resigned myself to accept the graying hair sprouting like weeds on my head. I vowed to change my diet and make healthier choices. And these nasty wrinkles! I don’t know where the hell they came from. Truthfully, I didn’t want to age gracefully. Hell, I just didn’t want to age at all!

Like many others at this crossroad in life, I took drastic steps to block the ravages of the aging process. I tackled the first signs of aging, which usually materialize in the face. Overnight, seemingly millions of wrinkles took their toll, brazenly taking up residence in my face. It shocked me to see my once-supple skin begin to resemble the texture of a snakeskin purse. I craved a quick fix to help me recapture that “dewy, youthful appearance.” 

Media hype touting guaranteed results from wrinkle-fighting wonder drugs sucked me in. Lotions loaded with Vitamin A, retinol, and other fancy ingredients became my best friends. I tried them all. After months of use and deep dents in my pocketbook, these wonder creams never led me to the fountain of youth. Instead, they left me and my w...

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