“Are you sure you don’t want some? I mean, we live in a world of instant gratification, ya know? This will give it to ya.”
Words from the aesthetician I was visiting, referring to Botox. (and by referring I mean not so subtly suggesting that I could use some). Apparently, starting off our consultation with the statement “please don’t try to sell me Botox, I’m not interested” left some uncertainty in her mind about where I stood.
I mean, I get it, she’s paid to sell stuff, and honestly, if she’d been referring to Cheetos, I would’ve been All.In. But a “neurotoxic protein produced by the bacterium Clostridium botulinum and related species?” not so much.
Since the appointment, I haven’t been able to let go of her statement, “we live in a world of instant gratification.”
I don’t disagree, and there’s much to be said for instant gratification. I like Amazon Prime as much as the next minivan-driving mom, but I’m also a realist.
The truth is, no matter how much stuff I put onto or into my face, no matter how many pounds of kale I eat, or how many crunches I do, I’m still going to be my age. And that means the real (authentic) me is still going to peek out around the edges. Gray hairs will shoot out, lines will continue to form, and another part of me will droop.
If I’m lucky, I’m going to grow old (and so are you).
I mean, last time I checked, immortality is not available yet on the Kroger click-list.
If I view it as luck-this aging process-at what point do I face the undeniable certainty that no matter what I do, that age will ultimately win the war?
I’m wondering what would happen to my psyche if instead of focusing on instant gratification, I focused on instant grace.
If I looked into the mirror and gave myself grace for the lines that I’m lucky enough to own. If I, for once, didn’t lift up the squishy part of my tummy and moan “ugh,” but gave myself grace because I know the battles of parenthood/life that brought forth the rubber gut. What if I looked into the mirror and gave myself grace because I’m beyond lucky to have made it far enough in life to be able to complain about the things that scare me about aging?
What would happen if, instead of instant gratification, we gave ourselves and gave each other instant grace for being who we are?
Think about it, what would we gain if we cared more about giving grace vs getting gratification?