I think that as human beings (my dog could care less) we tend to take stock of our aging process more consciously as we approach a new decade. I know I do. The other day while pondering the beauty of youth, I found myself lamenting my youthful self. Where did she go? While lamenting, I suddenly realized that the younger, smooth-skinned me I lamented had not evaporated into a place long past, but had somehow hitched a ride with me through the years. In other words, that young me has merged into the cracks and crevices (and wrinkles?) of the 58 year-old me. She is me. Now, that’s profound.
The young me modeling at Adams Junior High school fashion show, 1966