My body is aging faster than I want it to. There are things I can’t do any more. For example, I have a bad knee (osteoarthritis) which restricts how far and how fast I can walk. I can’t see as well as I used to, and sitting at a desk all day is creating havoc with my back. Sigh. To paraphrase George Bernard Shaw (and others), youth is wasted the young.
The time most of us begin to become comfortable with our bodies is around middle age. Which, I suspect, is why there are paranormal fantasies where the woman gains power, part of which is the ability to control aging, and chooses to retain her middle-aged body.
I get this. Back in my early middle-age I would have agreed with that decision.
Nowadays, not so much. As my own starts to wear out, I say give me the body that can walk all day and get up and do the same the next, and the next. The body that can eat almost anything and if I overindulge, just eat less the following day. The skin that retains its elasticity.
Please, give me the body of the twenty-year-old.
Provided I keep the wisdom and the confidence of my older self.