Dear Mr. Zuckerberg,
There’s not an algorithm you could ever build that could contain me.
Aging happens slowly — until it doesn’t.
You don’t always see the changes as they come. They slip in quietly, disguised as a little stiffness in the morning, a new shadow under your eye, or the way your skin begins to tell your story before you even open your mouth.
It seems abrupt — but it’s been happening all along.
My wake-up call wasn’t a milestone birthday. It was seeing the thinning of my skin, the way my veins stood a little prouder than before. It was the shrinking of my calves — calves that used to make strangers stop me in the street. They still get attention from time to time, but I know what’s changed.
The fine lines caught me off guard — not because I feared them, but because I didn’t realize how quickly they’d arrive. One day my reflection felt familiar. The next, it felt like I was being reintroduced to someone I hadn’t noticed was growing older.
I was no longer seeing just the me I remembered — but the quiet return of my mother’s face, layered gently over my own.
Her smile sits where mine used to be.
Her lips shape my words now.
The bottom half of my face belongs to her entirely.
And when I laugh — really laugh — I see her joy flicker across my skin, as if she’s reminding me that aging is nothing more than becoming the women who made us.
The first time it happened, I had to sit down.
Now, I see it for what it is — a homecoming.
You see, I’ve lived too much life to be reduced to just one thing for your algorithm’s appetite.
I’ve directed choirs.
Prepared sermons.
Spoken internationally.
Curated my own photo exhibit.
Worked for award-winning organizations.
Had my heart broken — more than once.
Buried family members, some suddenly, some slowly.
I’ve been a caregiver.
Directed documentaries and short films.
Worked as a graphic designer, an art director — even lived life as The Marketing Stylist®.
I’ve written books. Self-published them.
Toured across cities to put those books in hands.
I’ve written feature films.
I grow food.
Preserve food.
Serve and savor food.
I make soap and body butter.
I craft medicine from the gifts in my garden.
I’ve gained weight.
Lost weight.
Repeated the cycle more times than I care to count.
I’ve hated my body.
Tortured my hair.
And finally — finally — arrived at a place of love and acceptance.
I’ve won.
I’ve lost.
I’ve been deeply loved.
And yes — I’ve been hated.
I am the villain in someone’s story.
The heroine in others.
Always the victor in my own.
And through it all, I’ve learned this —
There’s not a single algorithm that could ever contain me.
Because my life isn’t content. It’s testimony.
And I’m just getting started.
Lisa N. Alexander is the author and founder of This Woman Knows and What Million-Dollar Brands Know. She is an award-winning filmmaker, director, producer, and writer and is the owner of PrettyWork Creative.
