The Gifts Of Age

1. My spot

If you’ve watched some of my recent Insta stories I know you’ll have been desperately worried as to the outcome of a terrible new zit that has planted itself right on the top of my lip bow, smack bang in the middle.

I’ve been slathering it with Clearasil (no nasties in that baby! ha!) which unfortunately did make me look a little Hitler-esque and thought I was back on track rather than this unappealing combo of raging teenage hormones and the wrinkly old sagging of an ancient.

Unfortunately, and brace yourself, I woke up this morning after admittedly getting stuck into it last night like you’re not supposed to, to a patch of skin that now won’t stop bleeding.

As I’m practically a Kardashian, what with all that contouring and colouring and butt implants, I quickly stuck a blob of concealer on top. This lasted beautifully until I touched my face to the mat and it fell off, followed by drips (I mean, SO DRAMATIC) of blood.

That my skin is behaving like it’s on the brink of its voice breaking whilst I’m in actual factual fact growing jowls is a highly contentious topic.

I am available for scientific study.
#elderlymodelavailableforsnacks

2. How to not give gifts

I have replaced the American goodies I ate that were for my nephews with NZ chocs I picked up from the supermarket and raced to the post office holding them tightly and as far away from my mouth as possible.

For some reason, I felt it necessary to explain myself to the slightly bewildered woman behind the counter. She actually helped me load my travel card (three times) so I thought she might remember me (not in any narcissistic way, of course!) and I could not stop jabbering on about why I ate almost everything and also used a couple of the Sephora masks meant for my sisters. I wanted her to forgive me, much like in confession.*

Instead she gave me a receipt, wished me a nice day and smiled and in that smile I saw understanding and compassion. I also saw a tiny bit of fear. I did stop short of telling her I loved her and I think that shows great restraint on my part.

All in all, I think I came out a winner.

*I get a lot of my catholic ‘facts’ from The Godfather movies so please feel free to correct me at any time.

3. A rolling yogini gathers no sympathy

A recent yoga class involved a repetitive flow with back and forth rolling along the spine up to standing. I’ve never loved this as it always seems to hurt my back but do them anyway. This time though there’s been consequences (who knew?!) and I’ve been suffering (not in silence, obviously) all weekend (although I kicked ass in a Muay Thai boxing class like a stealthy ninja, ah, thing) and it feels like every vertebra of my lower back is aching.

Never one to complain I subtly hinted to everyone who asked and also to everyone who didn’t, that possibly I might need to be carried around for the next few days/weeks. That didn’t go down as well as you’d expect so I came to an entirely selfless (or mature, if you will) decision to NOT roll up and down on my spine in any future classes.

Mind blowing I know but I think this falls under MINDFULNESS.

And I am still very open to be carried.

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Grace and dignity, that’s what I’m aiming for here, post-fifty.
How am I doing?
What have you learnt thus far, life-wise? I’d love to know…

Photo by Annie Spratt

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© The Yoga Connection 2017