i've figured it out
maybe you know how much i love old people. if you don't - i do, a lot. it came to me the other day when i was riding the orange line north just why they're so beautiful.
i got on the train and sat behind a boy who was about my age. he was beautiful. he had a thick curly black mohawk, dark black skin, a gray t-shirt with a black satin tuxedo vest over it, a variety of cuffs up his arms... i admired him and appreciated how much time he had put into his look. his hair alone must have taken him at least half an hour to get the curls so perfect, and his outfit looked perfectly planned.
at the next stop, an oooooold man with a cane climbed in and sat in front of the boy in front of me - he was facing so that i saw him from the side. my attention was drawn away from the boy by the old man's faded brown skin, white wispy hair, WRINKLED face and well-used hands - now i couldn't stop admiring him. it puzzled me that with such a pretty boy sitting in front of me, i'd rather look at the wrinkled old man.
then i realized - as much time as the boy had spent on his look, it had taken the old man an entire lifetime (80 years?) getting himself to look the way he did. each of those wrinkles marked something of his past, experiences that shaped him into that sweet, smiling old man. the boy, blasting his ipod and staring out the window, had no idea what's coming to him.
i'm excited to be old and wrinkly one day.
i got on the train and sat behind a boy who was about my age. he was beautiful. he had a thick curly black mohawk, dark black skin, a gray t-shirt with a black satin tuxedo vest over it, a variety of cuffs up his arms... i admired him and appreciated how much time he had put into his look. his hair alone must have taken him at least half an hour to get the curls so perfect, and his outfit looked perfectly planned.
at the next stop, an oooooold man with a cane climbed in and sat in front of the boy in front of me - he was facing so that i saw him from the side. my attention was drawn away from the boy by the old man's faded brown skin, white wispy hair, WRINKLED face and well-used hands - now i couldn't stop admiring him. it puzzled me that with such a pretty boy sitting in front of me, i'd rather look at the wrinkled old man.
then i realized - as much time as the boy had spent on his look, it had taken the old man an entire lifetime (80 years?) getting himself to look the way he did. each of those wrinkles marked something of his past, experiences that shaped him into that sweet, smiling old man. the boy, blasting his ipod and staring out the window, had no idea what's coming to him.
i'm excited to be old and wrinkly one day.