Hill? What Hill?

I've always thought of my parents as old.  Not geriatric old, but old. By the time I was born, they were both in their 30's; that's old for a very young child.  I recently realized that I am now older than they were when I thought they were over-the-hill.  How in the heck did I get over-the-hill and will somebody please tell me where this "hill" is because I really don't remember going over it.  I really do not believe I can be over-the-hill because that sounds like it requires exercise; something I have been opposed to for most of my life.  

I am not one to dwell on my age; in fact, I stopped keeping track long ago.  So much so, I have to do the math whenever I have to state my age.  However, a few years back, I did start noticing the lines on my face.  I invested large sums of money on products that promised to erase fine lines, ie, wrinkles.  I soon realized those products are targeted toward women in their late 20's and early 30's when the lines are actually "fine" and not, as I have, deep-set road maps etching across my face in every direction.  One day I looked in the mirror and wondered, "how did I get that scar.  Come to find out, it is one of those not-so-fine lines.  I soon gave up trying to conceal them and simply embraced the lines on my face that are, actually, a perfect road map of my life thus far.

Vanity can be a slippery slope.  Social expectations tend to define our natural aging process as something negative.  Women attempt to fall for these misguided stereotypes and begin to believe they must look younger, thinner, and more socially acceptable if they are to make it in this dog-eat-dog world.  I call BS and I am living proof.

I got my undergraduate degree late in my 40's and completed my Master's in my early 50's.  As I began searching for an entry-level position, my competition for those jobs was half my age and able to give a life-time to the company that hired them.  I, on the other hand, only have 15-20 years left; maybe more if my brain holds up. I had to be creative and honest, all at the same time.  I had to show them that hiring me is a good gamble.  I used my maturity, wisdom, and determination as the foundation of my argument as to why they should hire me over a 25-year-old.  It paid off and I landed the most amazing job helping many, many individuals in their most desperate times of need.  I was promoted after my first year; demoted in my second year, and now I am perfectly content giving my full attention to the patients whom seek our help.  I have the most amazing co-workers whom have become my dearest and treasured friends.  I cannot imagine working anywhere else and plan to stay for as long as my mind, heart, and bodily functions allow me.

I don't worry about the lines on my face or the love-handles in my mid-section.  I try to maintain a fairly healthy life-style but I don't dwell on the appearance that nature has painted for me.  Sure, I get my hair colored and styled and I dress well but I don't do it because society tells me I should do it; I do it because it makes me feel good about myself.  

Every line on my face is a testament of living a full life.  I am not ashamed and I will not deny what those lines signify.  Many of those lines are from smiling; some are from frowning...all are a wonderful zig-zag portrait of this long, beautiful life.

Hill?  What hill?  I've only just begun the accent; I'm nowhere near over it yet.