Oh, that supposedly unwelcome sign of aging: wrinkles. What to do? Nothing! Let them just BE. I have many these days, and I do my best to look at them as a symbol of my existence. I am not saying that I like them, but I do accept them as part of the natural process of living, the sign of a survivor. And I am that. Surgery, radiation, chemo. Yes, I am that.
Friends go the plastic surgery/ botox route; and, while we lunch, I mentally compare their skin surfaces to mine and I am not so sure they look better. Different, yes. Better, hmmm.
There's that quasi Madame Tussaud's Museum look about them. Where are the forehead wrinkles? Smile lines? Fake. Nothing moves facially. Weird.
My thinking on this topic, all things considered, is not really so simple and philosophically high-roadish; there is another true-confessions part to the story. 1) I hate surgery, needles, hospital stays, and going under anesthesia unless it is truly necessary in order to live. Bottom line: I would rather have wrinkles than go through those ordeals. 2) I choose to not spend my limited $$$ that way.
So, I accept these wrinkles of time. They are asign of life and living, and I am fearful and unwilling to pay the big bucks to go under the needle or knife in order to diminish them. My wrinkles are well earned, and the best part is that I am still here to see them multiply and deepen. So bring 'em on...and, well, it would be OK if you could dim the lights just a little bit. ;-)