I'm sitting on an airplane on my way to San Francisco.
In the aisle seat next to me is a beautiful older lady. If I had to guess, I'd say she was in her late seventies.
Her face is worn and full of lines in all the place I imagine you get lines when you spend a lifetime laughing. She is wearing just the appropriate amount of foundation, powder, eye makeup and the perfect shade of red lipstick.
It's very clear that she was a gorgeous woman in her prime.
I would describe her now as elegant and well groomed, with a magnificent spirit.
She sits with her friend who is around the same age.
It's clear, from spying on their conversation, that they've been friends for many years.
I was struck by their bond. I was intrigued with their (still) very youthful energy. I was excited by their devilish attitude.
As I sat and continued to secretly eavesdrop on their exchange, I imagined what my life would be in forty years.
Will I be sitting on a plane with one of my oldest friends heading to a city for a weekend of delicious food, theatre and shopping?
What stories will we look back on and laugh at?
But what I wondered most of all-
Will I still recognize my hands?
I know it seems like an odd question, however I couldn't get past this woman's hands.
She was so full of beauty and humor, yet her hands looked aged, abused and full of pain.
It made me incredibly sad.
Which is crazy- because she was extremely happy...
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