The modern woman

Today’s women are constantly on the run they say. They are running from themselves as children, adolescents, mature women and then stop, turn around and attempt to run backwards from the old, graying image staring back at them in the mirror.

I see women rushing to and fro and think where are they all going and why is their movement causing more eye-darting than I’m accustomed to? Training for marathons they are not. Olympics are out of the question. So what gives?

What is awaiting the typical woman through her “unique “path called life? Enjoying childhood while anxiously anticipating to be a grown up. Enduring adolescence while battling the metamorphic changes happening to our beloved bodies. Exhaling during twenties that the young, vibrant and finally grown person has emerged while secretly wishing for late adolescence. Cautiously entering our thirties, with a slight longing for the previous decade and a new set of responsibilities. Attempting to trick our forties by injecting wrinkle-resistant bacteria into our somewhat used and battled selves. Fencing with our fifties to prove that we’re still good enough to be in our thirties. Suffering through our sixties as the same demon who wreaked havoc in our teens reemerges to start putting our bruised, diseased and helpless bodies through the final ringer. Accepting our seventies and eighties because that is when eternal peace finally sets in. No more wishing for your younger days. No more worries. No more fears.