Reason #2: The Wine Theory
At my current age, 32, the RW considers me past my prime. From this day forth I can expect a slow but steady morphing from the fine red wine of my youth to vinegar. With my best years behind me, I had better hope that either I did all the man-chasing I needed already, or that I am seriously loaded so I can afford to take off a few inches of neck waddle every few years.
While I am not bothered by my age, I do get a wee perturbed at the notion that I have to spend increasing amounts of wealth on creams to prevent wrinkles which I earned. I have what the cosmetic industry disrespectfully refers to as, "crow's feet" at the corners of my eyes at the ripe age of 32. It's because I smile so darned much. My hands are skinny with melon-sized knuckles installed in the fingers. Large veins lace the backs of those same hands giving the impression I have somehow robbed an old woman's corpse of its mitts. These are my hands. Years of dipping those hands into turpentine to clean paint brushes contributed to those granny hands of mine. While I agree that I would prefer my eyes or hands to be covered in taught flesh, I feel pretty confident that the current state of my flesh is not an indicator of my impending doom.
I do not appreciate the world telling me that people my age should look like 20-somethings.* My twenties were like a second hormone-infused manic puberty. I wouldn't want to go through that again, nor do I want to look like the reckless near-adult I was. Yeah, the pictures looked great, but I know what porridge was behind those flawlessly-painted cats' eyes.
|RW: I can only await further decline. My only struggle left is to maintain dignity as I transform into a toothless pile of pock-marked flesh.|
In the YW every day is a new improvement. No matter what your age, regular attendance insures steadily increasing strength, flexibility and precision of mind. I have multiple yogis I aspire to who are many years my senior. As I have stated previously, my eventual goal is tiger scorpion. I think it is the most beautiful pose I have ever seen and I want it with a zealousness that could choke small mammals. I know I will get there, it will just take time. A long time. I tell my friend, only half joking, that it may take until I am 90. I look forward to being the only one in the old-folks home that can stand on their head, supported by their forearms.
|YW: I will always be improving. Wine never past its prime, we can develop character, depth and grace for our whole lives...and the ability to touch our heads to our butts, (which is way-impressive in the retirement community).|