Transition.

tran-si-tion: – noun 1. movement, passage, or change from one position, state, stage, subject, concept, etc., to another; change: the transition from adolescence to adulthood.



I turn 50 in nine months. For some reason, that surprises me. '50' has managed to sneak up on me... or is that 'creep' up on me? I'm not sure which, but I am sure of one thing. I'm in transition. Not from youth to middle age or middle age to old age, but from denial and/or ignoring the signs of aging to "I'm not quite ready to sell the farm, Billy!" The only problem is the bank of youth is wanting to close my account - I get a memo to that effect each time I look in the mirror - and it's not taking "no" for an answer, dammit.

It's the drying up that bothers me the most. Dry hair. Dry skin. Dry eyes. And dare I say it? ("Yes," you're thinking, "we're all in this together - just say it.") Okay. Dry vajayjay. Now, doesn't that just sound sooo sexy? I feel like Coleen Gray in the movie "The Leech Woman" when she was between men, so to speak. Where's a girl's 'young stud pineal gland tapper' when she needs one? (Google it and you'll get it.)

True story. I'm sitting in the driver's seat in my car waiting for my daughter. She gets into the car... and the windows in the entire car instantly steam up EXCEPT for the driver's side window and my side of the windshield. I am so dry, her youthful moisture could not penetrate the parched barrier surrounding me, leaving my small section of the car as dry and arid as the Sahara Desert. Grrr.

Today in the mail, I got a special edition of People Magazine titled "Sexy at Any Age." I perused the photos of celebrities who look younger at age 40-something than they did when 20-something. The beauty secrets of the Stars! Anti-oxidents! Organic diets! 5-mile daily runs! 4-hour daily workouts! Um... no.

By the way, Valerie Bertinelli is totally hot. And she is my age. I'm thinking she might be inspiring me to ... exercise. Gasp! But inspiring and actually "doing" are two different things and I haven't been very reliable in the past in the "doing" department when it comes to exercise. So that leads me back to my transition.

I'm making a promise to myself to do more. I promise to exercise more. I promise to dance more. I promise to protect my skin more with SPFs and pretty, floppy hats. I promise to eat a more healthier diet and to drink less caffiene. I promise to get more sleep. I promise to laugh more (laugh lines, I don't mind at all, thankyouverymuch). I promise to forgive myself when I fail. And the hardest promise I make to myself is to accept the fact that I am aging. I promise to do it with dignity, with grace, with my friends, and most definitely with a sense of humor.

Transition. It can be a bitch, but sometimes it can lead you to the most satisfying time of your life... if you just let it.