Gravity’s Winning

(but I am too)

I don’t chase youth.
I do stretch, hydrate, and walk — on purpose — not because I think I’m 30, but because I know damn well, I’m not.
I try to take care of myself, not to cheat time, but to maybe slow the slide long enough to enjoy the ride.

Let’s face it: gravity always wins. But I’m not going down without some effort and a plate of vegetables I didn’t fry.

These days, aging isn’t the problem — pretending it’s not happening is.
We’ve got 47-year-olds smoothing out their selfies like they’re applying drywall mud.
Filters so thick, even AI just shakes its head: “Ma’am, no.”
Y’all — we can tell.
If your face is smoother than a baby’s butt and your eyes look borrowed from an anime character, we know it’s not the lighting. It’s denial with a Photoshop degree.

I’ve got a saying:
“The person who knows who they are — and how old they are — is already one step ahead of those trying to dodge both.”

It’s not surrender. It’s strategy.
Because once you accept what is, you stop wasting time on what never was — and start enjoying what’s real.

I wake up a little slower these days. Not broken. Just creaky.
My face still works — just doesn’t snap back into place as fast as it used to. My knees chime in with their commentary on every step, squat, and sneeze — but that’s okay. They still get the job done.
I used to have abs. Now I have character.

But here’s the great thing: I’m not trying to pass for anything I’m not.
I’m just trying to stay upright, eat smart, and remain sharp enough to call out nonsense when I see it — and to keep me from mailing checks to someone claiming I won the Canadian lottery.

You know what real aging looks like?
It’s not that filtered photo of someone grinning in a wide-brim hat holding an oat milk latte.
It’s knowing your limits, wearing shoes with arch support, and stretching before you sneeze just in case.
It’s trading ego for awareness. And let’s face it — ego has never aged well anyway.

Don’t get me wrong — I’m all for effort.
Walk.
Lift something heavier than a remote.
Moisturize.
Just don’t lie to yourself about which decade you’re in.

Laugh lines mean you’ve laughed.
Gray hair means you’ve lived life.
And if your shirt fits a little tighter — well, that just means you ate good last weekend. Own it.

So yeah — gravity’s winning.
I’m not hiding, filtering, or faking.
I’ve got my creaks, my aches, and a neck that occasionally folds like a linen napkin — but I also know exactly who I am.
And that’s more important to me than posing with a light ring and a rented alpaca.

📸 If your selfie is a fairytale and your knees are a horror story, say hello to The Condition.
Now hit subscribe and age like me… without a filter.