I know I’ve hinted (if not downright typed) this before: the older I get, the more irony I experience. And I'd like to share some of my latest thoughts.
When young, I strove to be socially correct because I saw this as the magical way to friends. I’d painstakingly wear the “right” clothes, say the “right” words, and basically try to keep myself together in a big shiny package that would attract friends and therefore closeness, love, faithfulness, and all the mushy stuff found in good relationships.
However, I continually find that the way to friends, closeness, shared moments etc… is actually not saying, or wearing or being right. Some of the best friendships can spring from feeling awkward – say at a party – and meeting that other gal who feels just as awkward as I do.
The older I get, the more “the perfect person” is less attractive.
The bonding and pure pleasure that springs from meeting someone who struggles, just like me, can be as comforting and attractive as a big cozy blanket. Good looks? The right outfit? The perfect family? Who cares.
All this is a far cry from the perfect girl I thought I needed to be to get the friendships I longed for.
Bit by bit, I’ve ripped down my impossible standard, as I see that my best friendships have been formed when I let my guard down, tossed aside social norms, and become more than real, even vulnerable. It’s a sigh of relief.
Aging is awesome.
Creator of Love, Auntie.
About LOVE, AUNTIE
Welcome! My blog is a journal of sorts as I seek what makes "older" worth celebrating in a world that tends to glorify "younger." I hope it's a place you will find encouragement and positive words.