I long for things that are old—things with a past. Things with character, and a story—things that are built to last.
I am drawn to things that are carefully constructed, and imperfectly perfect. Show me intricate detail, and fine lines—evidence of wear. Show me a story—one that unravels. Show me a life that is etched in stone—one that is draped across time.
There is so much beauty in things that are old.
We see the value in old houses, antique trinkets, classic cars, and masterful art, yet we often devalue the rarest commodity of all—the unmistakable mark of time reflected on our human form.
We worship youth, and try to erase the signs, yet it is wisdom, and expression, that display the stories of our lives. Our story is literally written on our face. The roadmap to our very essence.
Proof of life.
I wish we would place more value on the gift of time, and the privilege of the journey. We are often distracted, and lose touch with important things, like stillness, reflection, people, and nature.
We let superficial notions devalue, and depreciate us, when in reality, with each day, and every step forward, we are growing stronger in spirit, and gaining real value. We need to stop and appreciate the fact that as time passes, we are actually appreciating.
Progress and newness both have their place, but should not detract from the power and beauty of our life’s experiences. In the end, it should not seem like we have not weathered a thing.
There is so much vibrancy and life in the spaces on our faces. There is so much power in the privilege of growing old.
To be old is to live 🦋