My period is over so I hopefully won’t get too dramatically depressed in my entries for the next 27 days. I’ve decided that I want outrageously good skin. You know how models always have that perfect glow? I realize that it was because they were using retinol and serums. The entire time I thought they were downing ginger shots and green juices for perfect skin, but no, it’s the skin care products.
My sobriety is still going strong. When I was quitting weed I had a huge crisis over aging. I felt like I was over the hill and my life was over. After I sobered up I resolved to do a better job of preserving my skin. No more just sunscreen and moisturizer! I would be using vitamin c serum, hyaluronic acid, retinol, Dr Gross Alpha Beta Peel Pads, marula oil, and french eye creams! I’ve decided I want to preserve my skin. The hippie in me is like “don’t care, be cool about it” but there’s an incredible appeal to aging with good skin.
I don’t hate the idea of aging, I just like the idea of aging sexy. I’ve seen women around the city who are well into their 50s and have a certain je ne sais quoi sex appeal that dramatically outpaces my own. In my 20s I had a boss in her 50s that would come into work wearing slip dresses, skate shoes, and gigantic silver jewelry all over her arms. I also have a thing for gray hair and the hot older men that wear all black and prowl the streets of Manhattan. Aging is sexy when done well.
I’m a huge self care junkie. I think half the reason why I’ve done so well mentally and emotionally is because I got into the practice of intense self care. I’m always working on myself in therapy. I listen and validate myself and I know how to love and uplift myself. I think this is such a critical life skill. There are days when my skin looks like shit, I’ve gained weight, I’m performing horribly at work, I’ve been dumped because someone thinks I’m an irrelevant clump of cells, or I’m getting fired. Those are the days I’m bound to feel the most unloved, but those are the days I’ve learned to love myself the most. New York City is a cruel mistress who reiterates how irrelevant I am. Being able to come home and love myself is the very thing that’s sustained me.
I wasn’t always like this. I think we all struggle with some sort of hollowed out feeling in our chest from the pain and losses we’ve experienced. I always thought I could fill it with success, money, designer things, that there was some way I could break even with reality after everything I had been through. A few years ago I dated someone very wealthy and successful and they were the most unhappy person I have ever met. More is an illusion, like crazed people imagining an oasis in the desert. Life is still life. Even after you’ve accomplished all your goals, you still wake up in a bed with your heart beating and your brain trying to wrap itself around reality. The texture of life doesn’t change. We change though. We evolve, we grow, we connect with ourselves, and in that process life expands into something richer and deeply fulfilling. That’s my hot take anyways.
Title is a Pablo Picasso quote
a soft death 