Laurie Markvart's Diary

Note: I’ve narrated and recorded an audio version of this post, waiting for you at the bottom of the page. Listen on its own, or press play while you read along—your choice.

Lately, I’ve been thinking about the strange, beautiful way our bodies carry us through life. This one body. Yes, I know we only get one body, obviously. And maybe that is the point?

But have you ever really, really thought about it for yourself? For your body?

What started this is that recently I looked at some photos from when I was in my 20s—the same age my son is now—and it struck me that this is the same body I’ve carried my whole life, from infancy, childhood, my teens, my 20s, 30s, 40s, and now my 50s. This body has seen me through so much, constantly regenerating, carrying me forward.

These are the same hands that once held my dad’s when I was a little girl and scared. The same hands that later held his hand when he was dying. The same hands that learned piano and picked up a guitar at 14—and still play today.

They’ve changed, of course—some deeper lines, age spots—but they’re still mine, moving with different energies through the years.

These are the same eyes too—the ones my mother gazed into when I was a baby, wondering who I’d be. The same blue of my eyes that has held my every joy, every loss, every moment of my life.

Have you ever thought about that with yours? It’s wild to realize this one body carries you through every experience.

Sometimes looking at an old photo feels like stepping into another lifetime, right? Back then I didn’t know what I know now. The smells, the sensations, the way I moved through the world back then—different. But still, the same body carried me. And yours has carried you too.

Maybe it’s like a car: you buy it new, it has that shine and “new” smell, but after you’ve driven it coast to coast it’s different. It smells like drive-through food, its seats worn, paint scratched, changed—but still the same car. And now it tells a story. That’s how the body feels. Have you ever really thought about what your body has carried you through and what stories it tells? That makes me think of aging.

Aging is something we need to embrace, because it’s proof that we’ve made it this far. We are winning!

As I get older, I see more lines in my face, more gray hairs, and sometimes instead of embracing them as proof of a well-lived life, I want my youthful appearance back—because I still have youthful aspirations I’d like to tackle. Quite honestly, they’re never going to happen. And that’s okay, because I have other opportunities that are better embraced with my current age.

So instead of thinking I need to look younger, I actually need to look exactly the way I am. But maybe I also hold onto youth because we live in a society—and I work in an industry—that is defined by it. I live in LA. I work in entertainment. And we do obsess over youth too much. I wish we didn’t—and I didn’t.

What we need to do is celebrate our elders, because they keep us in line. Our elders carry the knowledge that help us not repeat the same mistakes. My dad used to say, “The first moment we forget our history or mistakes, we repeat them.”

My body will carry me until it can’t anymore. And then it will be time for a new transition, one I believe will be extraordinarily beautiful.

Until then, I’m honoring this body for all it has done—survived, created life, endured, celebrated—and for how it still carries me through the lifelong journey of parenting and everything else.

This IS the same body that thrashed around on stage singing heavy metal music in my 20s. The same vocal cords that later in life would cry in grief, laugh in joy, and sing lullabies to my son—with the same heart that keeps beating for all of it.

These are the same feet that ran track in high school, skated on ice, walked in high heels and still do today! And the same lungs that took my first breath, sang every song, and have carried me through every moment up to today. When you think about yourself, I’m sure you have the same thoughts, now, right?

Aging is beautiful, but it’s also hard, complicated. My mind still feels youthful—curious, hopeful—and I want my body to match that energy, to never fail me. Pre-arthritic fingers crossed.

I’ve worked hard to keep my body strong, and still, bodies do exactly what they’re meant to do: survive, endure, change. They carry us through heartbreak and healing, love and loss, beginnings and endings. And they deserve to be honored in their aging—celebrated for the stories each year adds to them.

Because when you drive a car coast to coast, you can’t expect it to act like it’s on its first miles. But you give it extra care, extra love when it reaches milestones. Our bodies are no different. They deserve the same gratitude. And maybe, just maybe, this reminder is for you as much as it is for me.

© 2025 Laurie Markvart