Recently I saw an old “60 Minutes” profile of Billy Joel. It was made well before the Covid 19 shut-down. I’m a fan, so I enjoyed his interview and hearing segments of his famous songs. But then he tried to dance like a swiveling-hipped youngster. When his thick, middle-aged body attempted a slow, slightly painful version of a rock star’s on-stage gyration, I suddenly realized the truth: I’ll never again slip into all the skinny clothes filling my closet. The clothes I used to wear, the low-cut evening crepe, the French bikinis.
I have a year or two on Billy Joel, and in the last few, my firm curves have melted like marshmallows at a bonfire. I’ve developed an apple roundness and a decidedly droopy chin – changes that up ‘til now I assumed were temporary, like a summer sunburn.
Despite the fact that I eat less than I used to and exercise a bit more, I continue to add on layers of soft flesh.
But after seeing Billy Joel “dance,” the belief that yesterday’s body is readily available and will return as soon as I rest, reorganize and restore the correct energy-balance has been permanently put away.
Billy Joel will never again be his trim, beautiful 25-year-old self. (I noticed that his drooping chin was camouflaged with a fashionably graying beard).
We – Billy Joel and I and millions of other Boomers – have walked through a door that swings only one way. We reached that door after decades of learning, working, loving, helping, hurting, growing.
Decades that flashed past. Come to think of it, it’s nearly sixty years since JFK was killed in Dallas, almost half a century since Nixon resigned and decades since the Challenger exploded right in front of our TV watching eyes. Even the World Trade Center attack is rushing backwards in time so fast it almost takes my breath away. Today’s elementary school kids haven’t yet gotten to that event in their history books.
Wasn’t it just last week we thought we couldn’t trust anyone over 30? Now our kids are over 30. And their kids aren’t far behind.
Where have the years gone? Body fat is filling the gap between then and now. Thank goodness it merely droops from chins and bottoms, instead of pooling around our ankles like dropped drawers of flesh.
As my hair has whitened, my face wrinkled, my chin doubled, my waist thickened, my energy waned, my memory slipped, the reality of time’s passage and my body’s aging just did not hatch and hold.
Not until I saw Billy Joel “dance.” Curse him. Bless him.
What I liked most about that “60 Minutes” profile was not his attempt at the youthful gyration dance. Rather it was his words about enjoying life. He was happy with his home, his daughter, his music, his fans, and was not huffing and puffing and sweating in some gym, trying to regain a body that had permanently morphed into a thicker version of the piano man.
He said he was contented.
I know that feeling – the sense that I’ve found my place, and I’ve found my pace, and it feels just right.
Until I saw that Billy Joel profile, part of my contentment came from believing I could regain my youthful body any time I wanted. All it would take was a little extra effort and some serious affirmations.
So my closet has remained full of beckoning size 6s. I used to think they were saying, “We’ll be back together soon. No problem.”
Now I know better. I’ve cracked the egg of youth and emerged more contented, but a permanent size 12.
Thanks, Billy Joel, for helping me realize the truth. It’s time to clean out my closet.