Good Golly Jowls

A little over seven years ago, I woke up one morning and looked in the mirror to discover that the sides of my face were starting to sag. It felt kind of like karma because at that time there was a woman where I worked who was slightly older than me who already had old lady jowls, and I secretly felt just a touch superior. I laughed at myself and my situation, because what else are you going to do? I called my mother who had not yet fallen too far into dementia and said, “Guess what, Mom? My face fell last night!” This overnight transformation wasn’t unusual for me. It’s something we do in my family. My son used to go to bed and grow half an inch in his sleep. When I was a little girl, I went to bed with a flat chest and woke up with size 32A boobs. Notice that I didn’t say 32 AA but 32A. I had stretch marks. My father dropped his fork onto his pancakes at breakfast when I walked into the room. Well this morning it happened again. I thought I already had little jowls, but I was wrong. Because now I have actual jowls. They look like little blood plasma bags. I realize now that what was there before was just the architectural blueprints waiting for the actual jowls to be constructed. I am very vibrant and alive for my age, and I still have all my marbles, even if I’m slowly starting to forget things. I don’t feel as old as the woman in the mirror, at least not in most ways. But all these changes in my body are helping me to let go of the final vestiges of societal pressure to look younger than I actually am. I adore lilacs and all the other spring flowers that spark hope, but I’m also obsessed with the beauty of the dry, dead flower heads hanging on their stalks. To me they are gorgeous, preserved echoes of their former beauty. I’m working at seeing myself that way. This living thing we do… I’m not going to call it an all-out struggle but rather a trip, not in the psychedelic way of the 60s, but more similar to the way we feel when we’re on vacation. You know how you tend to notice everything around you when you’ve traveled to somewhere new; how all those things you notice, large and small, enrich your experience? I always enjoy wandering through foreign streets and stumbling across amazing sites. I once found a tiny Russian teashop in Florence run by a palm reader. I learn as much about myself as I do about the place I’m visiting as I wander. I think this is at least partially because I’m not going where people say I’m “supposed” to go. I’m fully engaged in doing my own thing and looking with my own eyes. Our journeys don’t have to look like everyone else’s, in fact, they shouldn’t. That doesn’t mean people won’t yammer at us and accuse us of being too stupid to sign up for the pre-approved, packaged “life” tour. I highly endorse being willing to wander through this world and the one inside our heads in our own way. It’s a glorious trip, especially if our eyes are focused on discovery instead of looking over our shoulders to see who might be judging us.

Cinse Bonino
2024