In my decades, I have lived in four countries, danced on my toes, been the target of a vicious pack of teenage girls, been in a vicious pack of teenage girls, dated lovely men, stayed married to one man too long, lied by omission, caught someone's serious mistake before it was too late when I worked in the ICU, divorced, found the man I was meant to marry, been a terrible wife, been a great wife, never been domestic, walked with sharks in the knee deep waters of Bora Bora (okay so they were only a foot long but they were real sharks I tell you), went to law school, sat with my mother while she had chemotherapy and then, that same day, took her to work because, by God, she had a job to do, laughed harder than I have ever laughed in my life with my mom while trying on clothes at Nordstrom, thrown my cell phone at a wall, kept steely reserve at work while being degraded by a boss and then cried in the car all the way home, carried on the tradition of hot chocolate with homework, been a really good mom, been an okay mom, and buried my own mom while holding my ten day old son. Just to name a few things, in no particular order.
I have earned every gray hair that I artfully cover up every four to six weeks. But I will never damn it ever do anything to minimize my laugh lines. Those are a result of all the good stuff that has happened along the way. At red stop lights, I will lean up into the rear view mirror to admire them. And I require them of all my friends.