I used to say that I came from a family of vain women.
My dear and very attractive grandmother, born at the turn of the 20th century, valued her beauty so greatly that she’d go off on a “vacation” and emerge weeks later looking rather refreshed and rejuvenated. As I got older, I quickly caught on that “vacation” was merely her clever moniker for “face lift.”
And my mother, a beauty in her own right, followed suit when she got to be a woman of a certain age.
But now that I’m that woman of a certain age, I’ve come to realize that it’s not vanity, really, but rather, it’s taking pride in the way we look. It’s even more than that. It’s the desire to look as youthful on the outside as we feel on the inside—full of vigor, energy and life.
It’s unfortunate that many times an observer won’t look deep enough to figure out that what’s on the outside doesn’t always match the inside. (But that’s better saved for another discussion.)