I found a brown spot on the back of my hand today. Some people call them ‘age spots.’ Or ‘Liver Spots’ (Ug! How horrible is that one? That name should be
illegal.) I, however, called them a word
that I can’t repeat. Well, really, I
didn’t call them “that” word but I said a bad one. Loudly.
With Emphasis. And I repeated it.
True story.
How can I be awesome with that on the back of my hand? Awesomeness is youthful, full of energy,
vital, fun, did I mention youthful?
Awesome doesn’t include age spots.
Pimples yes. Age spots, no.
Could it be that I am having a mid-life crisis? Should I run out and buy a sports car? I’ve heard that a red one will negate an age spot? Should I date someone much younger than myself. That could be awesome….and tiring….and probably really annoying. I didn’t like young when I was young.
My mind is frantic with options to counteract this spot and the only thing I can think of is Lady Macbeth (anyone that had good ole MP in English class in HS with me will understand that one.) THIS. IS. NOT. FAIR.
[Insert hyperventilation sequence]
[Repeat]
Lentigo. That’s the official name. Doesn’t sound any better but they mark something. And it turns out that the mark is pretty important. Not because my youth is slipping away (OK….its flat out racing away in the rearview mirror) but because it a reminder. In my case a pretty strong one.
Many of us humans forget that life is temporary. I pray that I haven’t hit that middle point yet. I also pray that these spots will disappear. And I pray for chocolate….LOTS of chocolate.
These darn spots are the reminder from the Creator that my life is moving forward. Always. I don’t get a choice in this matter. These spots are the little pushes forward saying “Get Going. You don’t have forever.” These spots are beautiful reminders that I am moving towards the completion of a story that I can’t write and live if I’m sitting here worrying about something as minor as a tiny spot on the back of my hand.
These age spots are more like beauty marks. They remind me that some of my friends and loved ones never had the chance to cultivate their spots. They moved on to another story while their hands were still youthful. They never had the chance to listen to the message that their spots could tell them.
They remind me that I have hands with which I can touch
others. Skin with to feel the suns
warmth and the wind’s kiss.
I am honored to realize that my hands, spots and all look like my
parents and grandparents hands. They
remind me that I had many wonderful years with my grandparents and hopefully
many more with my parents. Their hands
are a road map that my hands will copy.
With this gentle reminder from my Creator, I rub this age spot that connects me to my purpose, my future, and my history, and I am at peace with this addition. And while I will fight getting older with every ounce of my being, I will accept the process of aging with grace and dignity. But I will never, ever, call them liver spots. Ever.
Life is Good.
Could it be that I am having a mid-life crisis? Should I run out and buy a sports car? I’ve heard that a red one will negate an age spot? Should I date someone much younger than myself. That could be awesome….and tiring….and probably really annoying. I didn’t like young when I was young.
My mind is frantic with options to counteract this spot and the only thing I can think of is Lady Macbeth (anyone that had good ole MP in English class in HS with me will understand that one.) THIS. IS. NOT. FAIR.
[Insert hyperventilation sequence]
[Repeat]
Lentigo. That’s the official name. Doesn’t sound any better but they mark something. And it turns out that the mark is pretty important. Not because my youth is slipping away (OK….its flat out racing away in the rearview mirror) but because it a reminder. In my case a pretty strong one.
Many of us humans forget that life is temporary. I pray that I haven’t hit that middle point yet. I also pray that these spots will disappear. And I pray for chocolate….LOTS of chocolate.
These darn spots are the reminder from the Creator that my life is moving forward. Always. I don’t get a choice in this matter. These spots are the little pushes forward saying “Get Going. You don’t have forever.” These spots are beautiful reminders that I am moving towards the completion of a story that I can’t write and live if I’m sitting here worrying about something as minor as a tiny spot on the back of my hand.
These age spots are more like beauty marks. They remind me that some of my friends and loved ones never had the chance to cultivate their spots. They moved on to another story while their hands were still youthful. They never had the chance to listen to the message that their spots could tell them.
With this gentle reminder from my Creator, I rub this age spot that connects me to my purpose, my future, and my history, and I am at peace with this addition. And while I will fight getting older with every ounce of my being, I will accept the process of aging with grace and dignity. But I will never, ever, call them liver spots. Ever.
Life is Good.
