#strutting

Alright, here’s a confession that might raise an eyebrow or two: lately, I’ve found myself indulging in the most peculiar pastime—sticking my chest out with unabashed pride, as though I’m strutting through a David Attenborough documentary. It’s the sort of display you’d expect from an overzealous peacock, or some sprightly young flippitigibbit desperate for attention, not a 64-year-old who ought to know better.

And yet, there’s something oddly delightful about it! Far from feeling unbecoming, I’ve discovered leaning into this playful swagger brings a surprising sense of liberation. Perhaps it’s never too late to embrace one’s inner show-off and celebrate the body—wrinkles, wobbles and all. Who says the spotlight should only belong to the young?