Going Natural : The Lines of a Story

It was the first time the winter temperatures had climbed above 32 degrees, so I suggested to Mark that we take a little excursion to the Northside for some warm and spicy Ethiopian food.

Beams of light poured in through the windows of the El, bright and hazy, as January’s golden-hour sun tends to be whenever she decides to make a cheery appearance. I sat twisted on the bench, one leg propped up on the seat between Mark and myself, squinting out the dingy window as the train jolted past Wrigley Field. I remember saying something stupid about baseball, laughing at myself and my sorry knowledge of sports.

When I glanced back towards Mark, I noticed him looking at me with a crooked smile in that unnerving way where you instantly become aware that someone is not only watching you, but thinking something about you.

I blushed and furrowed my brows. “What?”

He reached a hand up towards my face, gracing his thumb along the top of my cheekbone.

“Your eyes-- I just noticed they crinkle a little bit at the corners when you smile. It’s like, we’re getting older together, and that’s pretty awesome, you know?”

***

Sometime last week, right after my 47th consecutive minute spent hunched over my laptop while staring at natural lipstick swatches online, this memory fell into my lap.

I’ve approached this whole “going natural” project with gusto. I threw myself into research, adding green beauty blogs to my Feedly, watching countless YouTube videos, and making too many purchases for natural products. There is a high that comes with the swan dive into a new endeavor, an enthusiasm and obsession that makes you want to shout, “Why did I not know this whole other world existed?!” Now, surrounded by a small tower of empty cardboard boxes and crumpled snakes of packing tape, I find myself the owner of products that I never even considered I needed before-- face masks, eyeshadow primer, three different kinds of face oils, brow cream. Et cetera.

This stuff is fun, of course, and I’m glad I’m committed to transitioning to natural products, but it opened up a side of myself that has become consumed with “beauty” in a way I had never been previously. The conventional makeup products I used before were utilitarian-- they did a job I needed them to do, and that was that. It required very little of my brain power, mental space, or time. Now that I'm exposed to far more makeup and skincare product information than at any point in my past, I've noticed myself thinking much more about my appearance, finding a “need” for new products like makeup primer or eye cream. Buzzword-y skin issues like  “dark circles” and “fine lines and wrinkles” entered my vocabulary, along with a concern as to how to fight them like the unwanted intruders that they are.

I sometimes consider the conflict between self care/self love and the importance we place on our outward appearances. Don't we too often make enemies out of our own bodies and the aging process? Think about it-- can you see the beauty in your silver strands or the parentheses deepening around your mouth? Or are they something you try to smooth, hide, cover up, and erase?

We are given exactly one body during our lifetime, and I believe it is simply a container for our spirit. A spirit that needs to express itself through movement, labor, love. Even if that means we get a little worn around the edges, a little soft in the middle. While we should try to treat our one precious vessel the best we can (please wear your sunscreen, friends!), I want to welcome the lines deepened by tear-inducing, body-shaking belly laughs, the skin roughened and reddened by the air whipping along the eastern Irish coastline, the hands callused and blackened from digging down into the dirt-- the literal and metaphorical kind. The one-inch scar on my chin tells a story, and I can only wish to someday have red rivulets on my abdomen mapping the story of the baby that grew there.

My life etches itself into my skin, and to accept this as evidence of time's passage and a collection of experiences is one of the most profound forms of grace I could extend to myself.

Thank you, Mark, for the reminder. To grow old together-- yes, it is pretty awesome.