By Carl Sampson
In my family, spring and summer represent a gauntlet of celebrations. Anniversaries and birthdays crowd the calendar. Throw in Mother’s Day, Father’s Day, Memorial Day and the Fourth of July, and it seems as though something – or someone – is celebrated nearly every week.
Which is all good. How could you ever complain about having too much fun? It’s like Mae West once said: “Too much of a good thing is – wonderful!”
I agree.
Except for one thing. In my experience, birthdays are generally a welcome occurrence. If you’re an old duffer like me, just the fact that I made it through another year is worth celebrating. However, I’ve noticed that, as the numbers get larger, my female friends tend not to be quite as excited about celebrating another birthday.
Compared with the guys I know, whose general reaction is similar to mine, the women’s reactions are, well, a little disconcerting. They seem to worry about losing that je ne c’est quoi of youth.
They shouldn’t, and here’s why.
I faintly remember being young. What I do remember of those years is how incredibly stupid I was. I messed up everything I touched – sort of a reverse Midas touch. Personal relationships, business decisions and careers were fouled up beyond all recognition.
They say you learn something every time you screw up, so I must be a genius by now.
When it comes to women, the knowledge that the years generate multiplies their intrinsic attractiveness. (I know I’m getting into deep water here, so I’ll be careful.)
To illustrate this, let me use a few show business examples.
Take Lindsay Lohan, please. Or Britney Spears. Or virtually any other 20-something actress. They all seem to be trying out for spots in the “Jerry Springer Show.” The silliness of how they’ve royally messed up their lives is beyond description.
By comparison, take Dame Judi Dench. Or Meryl Streep. Or Emma Thompson. These are truly gracious, interesting and accomplished women. And they are all 50 or older.
Who would you rather have dinner with? Britney or Judi? Lindsay or Emma?
For me, the choice is clear. The youngsters would be so wrapped up in their personal – and self-inflicted – troubles that the conversation would revolve around their favorite subject: themselves.
On the other hand, Judi or Emma or Meryl could talk at length about literature, history, politics, writing – the list of their interests and accomplishments is as long as Lindsay’s rap sheet.
So here’s my message to those of us who are a bit more “mature” as the result of the march of time.
Be proud of all that you have accomplished. And that gray hair and those wrinkles? Consider them to be badges of honor. Wear them with pride.
Those of us who are on the cool side of 50 have learned one of the most important lessons of all: Beauty really is more than skin deep.
That is a lesson worth celebrating.
