I Looked the Monster In the Eye

and it was me

Hunched back. Flesh rotting. Three or four lonely strands of hair sticking out on the egg-shaped head. Gums bleeding, teeth falling out.

Like Demi Moore’s character, Elizabeth Sparkle, in the movie The Substance, I looked the monster in the eye, and it was me. Truth—countless women have gazed at their faces longer than they may care to admit, anticipating the beast's emergence. I’m one of thousands, maybe millions, watching the external changes as if some outer force were trying to punish me. For what? For living a life well-lived. For not dissolving into thin air while I still looked good enough and not totally objectable to the hidden powers that be.

On December 24, 2024, I celebrated my 72nd birthday. Is this movie a trigger? Maybe. Sure, but it goes far beyond me navigating my personal journey.

I wasn’t sure I wanted to watch The Substance, categorized as a horror film. I wanted to sleep that night, and while I can handle a thriller, I don’t enjoy horror films. But since the movie earned Demi Moore a Golden Globe, I thought it might be entertaining and distract me from the absolute horror, the devastation of the lives and livelihoods of thousands of people, pets, and wildlife in the LA area. People who are reeling with shock. As a Quentin Tarantino fan, what’s happening in California exudes Tarantino vibes. Surreal. Like many of his films, what we face in real-time is way over the top.

The Substance also feels Tarantinoish. So in your face with chilling revulsion and violence that you can’t look away. You can not not see the self-abuse women put themselves through to desperately try and push back against society’s fear, expectation, and judgment of women. And then there’s Dennis Quaid's character—a caricature of a Ringling Brothers Circus Master that brings to mind any number of men you can pick out in a long line. As Elizabeth Sparkle’s puppetmaster, he’s so unreal as to be real. Misogyny, ageism, and cultural bias against women are up front and center. As the credits rolled on the TV screen, I turned to my husband struck, “You know what I’m horrified at? The fact that I’m not horrified at all by this film. This isn’t a horror movie; it’s an exaggerated docudrama.”

I’m 72 years old. Who is this grand declaration for? I could claim it’s for you, dear readers, and that would be half-true. However, I also declare to accept who I am today and invite the Big Breath to guide and propel me forward. I wasn’t horrified by the horror film The Substance because, in my way, I’ve lived it.

Over the years, when I encountered someone new and the topic of age was mentioned, I’ve always been OK with sharing, whether I was 32, 55, or 70. Many people, though not all, seemed taken aback and exclaimed, “No flippin’ way!” I’d respond, “Yes, flippin’ way.” Then, the usual comeback: “You don’t look it.”

In my younger, middle, and golden years, say 50s and 60s, and honestly, maybe even 70, part of my brain, the ego part, thought, “See, I told you, you don’t look your age. You look amazing. Thank goodness for those good genes. Aren’t you happy you practiced yoga all these years?”

But another part of my brain, the teeny tiny enlightened part, thought, “I’m more than my body. I’m more than my face. I’m more than this suit of flesh. Every one of us is more than our bodies.”

The living-in-the-real-world part of my brain, “Oh, for god’s sake, this shit is exhausting. I’m sick of hearing about whether I’m aging well, gracefully, or going to the dogs. I’m sad and angry to hear how my friends are being treated and the billion-dollar industry that entrains women with all things anti-aging. This conversation sucks, and it’s boring.”

However, the film explored more than just our outward appearance. It highlighted our tendency to conceal, reject, and even wish to obliterate the darker facets of our being. This dilemma transcends gender; it reflects a fundamental aspect of the human experience in which we feel compelled to present only our most vibrant selves, thereby rejecting the undeniable fact that having flaws and imperfections is entirely natural. Instead of accepting and integrating the darker parts of our humanness, we shove them back into the labyrinth of our minds and hearts until we can no longer stand the isolation and ignorance. Until, like a self-made explosive, we detonate, often taking others with us.

When I was a child, I became aware of death—first, our beloved Chihuahua died, then my grandparents, with whom I was very close. A lightning bolt struck me—does that mean my mother and father will eventually die? And the real kicker was that I probably would, too. When I went to my mother bawling, asking her if it was true that she and my father would one day die, she calmly took my slobbering face in her hands, kissed my wet face, wiped the snot off, looked me in the eyes, and said, “Yes.” I thought I’d pass out right there on the kitchen floor. She quickly added, “Though not for a very long time.” And whispered, “God willing.” I knew she threw in a caveat, but at the moment, I chose to ignore it. True to her word, my folks lived to be vibrant and curious 90-year-olds.

However, since that long-ago encounter, I began to doubt the existence of god. “Who in their right mind wants a god who creates humans and then knocks them off like a shoot-the-duck game at a county fair?” My mom's kitchen philosophy 101 lesson helped solidify the glass-half-empty girl I was for most of my life. Hyper-vigilant, sniffing out trouble like a blood-hound, hoping to circumvent the moment where the invisible hand of doom stole my joy and snatched an extra round of breath. Let me tell you, hypervigilance is itself an early death.

When I celebrated my 50th birthday, that same honest mother, known for her “Nanaisms,” blurted out just as the candles were lit, “If you keep standing on your head, you’ll never need a facelift.” Though her focus was on the exterior benefits (my wrinkle-free despite never having stepped into an esthetician’s studio), my mom wasn’t off the mark urging me to continue practicing yoga, specifically inversions according to her, to help stall the inevitable downward gravitational pull of time.

Photo taken January 12, 2025

Yet, I can’t deny that the yoga and meditation I’ve practiced for over thirty years are like drinking soma (the fountain of youth). My asana practice has changed as the years add up. It’s no longer 3 hours of kick-ass what’s the next advanced pose I can master? Pushing my body and mind to the edges. I’m focused on maintaining what musculature remains: a flexible spine, solid bones, and a strong, flexible, solid mindset, holding a vision of practicing for as long as possible. But the real nectar is that the practices have helped me see the world and myself from a higher perspective—most days.

At 50, my breasts resembled two firm yet juicy oranges—such perky little girls. Now, they resemble pendulous grapefruits ready to take a tumble. My body has morphed and transformed in ways that have dumbfounded me. I’m awed by this journey of being human and wonder how such shape-shifting occurs in the blink of an eye. Aging is its own miracle.

For those who have never rolled out a yoga mat, let me tell you that getting up every day and doing this thing called life is yoga. Life is also a shape-shifting dance of skillful yes and no. At least for me, it seems to have taken decades to learn when to grant permission and when to create boundaries of prohibition. I’m still working on this.

Embracing the dance of yes and no, my self-inquiry continues: What am I saying yes to and permitting to enter my sphere? What am I consciously inviting into my life? Who am I ushering across the threshold? Enter; you are welcome here.

What am I prohibiting and declaring no to? Sorry, you’ve been trying to lead me in this dance for far too long. It’s my turn now to choose my partners.

There is no denying the effects of aging have their way with me: graying hair, crow’s feet, turkey neck, did I mention sagging boobs, and teeth moving in opposite directions. But…what yoga has given me is a full-throttle lived experience, to know in the depths of my being that life is a gift, not to be squandered or taken for granted. With each passing day, the resolve to fully embrace the gift deepens as the world is torched, ablaze with ignorance, greed, and human disregard.

I may no longer have goals as I did in my youth, but I still have desires. Embodiment is the manifestation of the creative life force that flows through everything. How can we not keep yearning for the act of creation? Whether at 32, 52, or 82, desire reminds us that we are alive. Even in the challenges of being human, we are privileged to be on this Earth through the manifestation of god’s, or whomever, desire.

As I say yes to my desires at this age, I’m no longer afraid to raise my hand confidently and say, “No, don’t you dare come any closer. You don’t get to step over that marked line.”

Photo AI-Generated

However, history shows that the many no’s I’ve established still find a way to intrude upon my life, breaching the boundaries I've set. Not every person or situation acquiesces to our agenda and vision. A glance at the news confirms this.

As the world burns to ash, our hearts carry the weight of shock, grief, uncertainty, and fear. But we, you and I, must consciously step away from the chaos that stirs our fear. Let’s strive instead to show gratitude for the moments of blessings and grace without ignoring what's happening around us. It’s more important than ever that we courageously recognize our desires, seek meaning and fulfillment, and fully immerse ourselves at every stage of life.

I leave you with two specific questions.

• Who or what are you saying YES to in 2025?

• Who or what are you saying NO to in 2025?

I’m really eager to hear from you, so please share in the comments.

Photo taken January 12, 2025

Link to Organizations to Help Wildfire Victims.