I liked looking at the young faces best, when I gave my talk at the University of Wisconsin in Barron.
Old faces are nice, I suppose, but they are standard, decided, set in their habits like fish swimming back and forth, back and forth, in a tank.
Young faces are fluid, like the river. They are going somewhere, and you do not know where by looking at them—they hide it deep, deep—but you know it is somewhere, and you know it is far. And you know that the thing you say or do this moment, this day, during this very talk at the university—well, maybe it doesn’t have the potential to alter their direction, but it is entirely possible that it will ripple their current just a little.
Old faces aren’t like that. They are impassive, like the mountains. They change only through duress or earthquakes.
I noticed one young face especially, the face of a beautiful girl with curly dark hair and a silver delicate nose ring who sat near the front and listened intently. I noticed her nose ring when I told a story, during my talk, about someone else who wore one. And something about her face, the lift of it, the high ideals nestled in her cheekbones—something in it I identified in myself, though I would not try to name it if you asked me. She came up to the book table afterward, and I thought I could talk to her and maybe she would buy a book, but I was talking to someone else, and she left before I could say hello.
I like looking at young faces because they are so interesting. They wear beanies, some of them, or jewelry or acne or tattoos. Young faces wear insecurity at times. Bewilderment and wonder and reach. Old faces wear perms and permanence.
I suppose I like looking at young faces because I remember being young. I cannot remember being old.
Dear Luci in Canada,
If you are reading this, here is a little bit more about my university talk. Not much, just a little, because it’s the thing that came to my mind when I started to write.
Love from Luci in Wisconsin
Thank you for this. And your note to me. I feel honoured. You write so well. Maybe the beautiful girl will read this.
An old face would like to contest “standard, decided, set in their habits.” We have lived a long enough to know what works and what doesn’t. I’m “contented and satisfied” and would much rather have that than “insecurity, bewilderment, an wonder.”
Me too, when it comes down to that. I have read that statistically, older people are much happier than younger people, and I guess that makes sense to me. Youth is all about drama, and drama is uncomfortable. Still, there is something very intriguing about “youngness” that we all are attracted to. Young people have their whole lives yet ahead of them. No matter what age we are currently, we can look back to the age that came before, remember being in that position, and empathize. You can’t do that, looking ahead.
Lucinda — At sixty, I cannot remember being old, either. I can’t speak for anyone else, but for me I expect “old” to possibly happen when I’m ninetyish :)
You seem to me like a person who will always be young, Laurie. Even at 90. :)
* I found this post a bit shocking…what ‘age of face’ do you consider old? I think it puts people in boxes ! a fish swimming back and forth in a tank..really ?
Hi Linda, the post was not meant to be offensive, only to explore what it is about youth that is so attractive. I value “old” faces as well. I really like Romaine’s comment above, and maybe my reply to her will help you understand where I was coming from.
Hi Lucinda, isn’t it interesting that I as a early 50’s aged person :) I find old faces very interesting..always have. I’ve always wondered what caused the lines in their faces and am interested and often amazed when I hear their stories.
I thought a lot about the comment I left and wanted to remove it. Its your blog and you are free to write whatever you want. I wouldn’t be here reading it, if I didn’t usually enjoy the way you think and write :)
I agree with you, Linda, on the beauty of old faces as well as young. I worked at a nursing home for a number of yours and grew to LOVE those old faces.
I love your perspective on the world.
Thank you. As I yours. :)
Keep writing, I like the way you word things.
But just a comment, old faces are beautiful too… especially when they have a few wrinkles:) some lines to show where life has taken them through tough times, and then other lines to show that there were also times of laughter and joy.
Old faces often represent steadiness, contentment and patience.
Old faces have experience like I haven’t yet seen, and wisdom that I hope I may obtain if I stick around and observe long enough. 😉
They ARE beautiful. I worked at a nursing home for quite a few years and learned to really see and appreciate that beauty. This post explores the attractiveness of youth, but much could be written also about the attractiveness of age.
Amen! I did caregiving as well before becoming a mommy . :) your real-ness inspires me :)
If 60 is old, then I am old I guess. I know it is hard to understand the perspective of those whose shoes one has not walked in. There have been experiences in my life that leave me wondering and questioning and less sure of where I am going now than when I was younger so age does not necessarily remove those things. I do like your writing and as you know, being authentic and genuine opens yourself to criticism from other so hang in there and keep writing.
Thank you. And I like your thought about age not necessarily taking away the questions. I know that is true, but I guess sometimes I forget.
What you say is probably true, but I like to think if you saw my old face in an audience, it would reflect curiosity, not rigidity. Wonder, not passivity. Just saying . . .
That is the beauty of age. One gains more stability which is necessary for usefulness and peace of mind, but one CAN also keep a sense of curiosity and wonder intact–maybe not to the extent it us found in a child, but to a large extent nevertheless. We are all children in God’s huge astounding mysterious world.