Sally Field, 76, was considered ‘ugly’ after choosing to age naturally – She discovered joy in being a grandmother to 5 children and living in an ocean-view house

Keeping up with the Hollywood glam sometimes means defying age with the help of procedures and plastic surgeries. It’s not a secret that many celebrities opt to go under the knife for the sake of the good and youthful looks and the opportunities that looks brings.

However, not everyone who is part of the film industry is willing to follow this trend, and actress Sally Field is one of them.

Having been part of films such as Smokey and the Bandit, Norma Rae, Mrs. Doubtfire, and Forrest Gump, and having received plenty of awards for her acting, including Two Academy Awards, two BAFTA Film Award nominations, three Primetime Emmy Awards, two Golden Globe Awards, two SAG Awards, and most recently the Life Achievement Award, it’s safe to say Field has a career she can brag about.

Regardless of her age, 76, she still looks as stunning as ever and accepts her natural appearance. During her speech for the SAG Achievement Award she wore a magnificent black gown and embraced her naturally grey hair.

“I felt guarded, reserved, and out of the spotlight. But I was never sure what I’d say or do on stage. I would astonish myself,” the actress said. “I wasn’t hoping for praise or attention, though it’s excellent.”

She continued: “Acting has always been about preserving those priceless moments when I feel whole, thoroughly, and occasionally dangerously alive. Finding a path there has always been a challenge.

“They allowed me to open up and let me know things about myself that I never would have known otherwise. I’ve been working all my life. She continued for almost 60 years; there hasn’t been a day when I haven’t been genuinely happy to identify as an actor.”

Back in 2016, she was asked how she felt about playing an elderly, eccentric woman, Doris Miller.

“It’s okay that I’m an old woman; 70 is old. My years have given me strength; I have earned the right to have them, and I have owned them. And even if I dislike my neck and many other things, it’s alright,” Field told NPR.

And when it comes the natural process of aging, Field opts to stay true to herself despite the fact that the fight against ageism in Hollywood is a real one. “’Oh, I wish that weren’t happening to my neck,’ I think when I watch myself on television. Additionally, your eyes are bulging, and your face is collapsing. Then, though, I come across some of the women (who have undergone plastic surgery) who I once thought were stunning. Oh no, I’m feeling right now. Avoid doing it! And that would seem disrespectful to who they are right now,” she once said.

Field was married two times and went through two divorces. In 1986, she married Steven Craig with whom she welcomed two sons. The couple untied the knot in 1975.

She then dated Burt Reynolds before she married film producer Alan Greisman. Field and Greisman share a son together.

Eventually, she decided to commit all her time to her career but it was when she became a grandmother that her life took on a new dimension.

She embraced the new role and loves spending time with her grandchildren at her wonderful beach house with ocean views.

We love Sally Field.

I got on the bus and met someone who shocked me

The rain was coming down in sheets, mirroring the storm brewing inside Elara. Her phone buzzed with another rejection email, and the cafe, usually a haven of warmth and quiet, felt suffocating. She huddled deeper into her coat, the bitter taste of failure lingering on her tongue.

Across the table, an elderly woman sat alone, sipping tea and watching the rain. Her face, etched with the lines of a life well-lived, was illuminated by the soft glow of the cafe lights. Elara, lost in her own despair, barely registered her presence.

Suddenly, the old woman’s hand reached across the table, placing a delicate porcelain figurine on the table beside Elara’s coffee cup. It was a small bird, its wings outstretched as if in flight. “He always loved birds,” the woman whispered, her voice trembling slightly.

Elara looked up, surprised. The woman, noticing her gaze, smiled sadly. “My son, he was an artist. He used to spend hours sketching birds, capturing their flight, their freedom.”

Elara, captivated by the figurine and the woman’s gentle voice, found herself drawn into the conversation. She learned about the woman’s son, a talented musician who had passed away far too soon. She listened as the woman reminisced about his laughter, his passion for life, his love for music.

As the rain continued to fall, a strange sense of peace settled over Elara. The weight of her own disappointment seemed to lessen, replaced by a newfound empathy. The woman, a stranger, had opened her heart to Elara, sharing her grief and her memories.

When it was time to leave, Elara hesitated. “Thank you,” she said, her voice thick with emotion. “Thank you for sharing your story with me.”

The old woman smiled, her eyes twinkling. “It’s a gift, my dear. A gift to remember.”

Elara left the cafe, the rain washing away the remnants of her despair. She carried the small bird figurine with her, a reminder of the unexpected kindness and the power of human connection. She realized that even in the darkest of moments, there is always beauty to be found, and that sometimes, the greatest gifts come from the most unexpected places.

**The bus lurched forward, throwing me against the seat in front of me. Groaning, I rubbed my shoulder and glared at the rush-hour traffic. Rain lashed against the windows, mirroring the storm brewing inside me. Another rejection email, this one particularly brutal, had just landed in my inbox, and the taste of failure was bitter in my mouth. The cafe, my usual refuge, felt suffocating, the cheerful chatter of other patrons a jarring counterpoint to the gloom inside me.

Then, I noticed him. An elderly gentleman, his face a roadmap of wrinkles, sat across from me, his eyes fixed on mine with an intensity that made my skin prickle. It wasn’t a casual glance; it was a stare, unwavering and unsettling. My irritation, already simmering, boiled over. “What’s your problem?” I snapped, my voice sharper than I intended.

He didn’t flinch. His gaze, unwavering, seemed to search for something deep within me. My anger flared. “Seriously, why are you staring?” I demanded, my voice laced with venom. He finally lowered his eyes, a shadow of sadness crossing his face.

When his stop arrived, he rose, his movements slow and deliberate. As he passed me, he placed a small, folded piece of paper in my hand before stepping off the bus. Curiosity piqued, I unfolded it.

The words, written in a shaky hand, hit me like a physical blow. “I’m so sorry. I’m deaf and I couldn’t hear what you said. I didn’t mean to upset you. You just look exactly like my late son. I haven’t seen his face in so long and I miss him so much.”

Shame washed over me, hotter than the midday sun. My anger, my impatience, my own petty frustrations, had blinded me to the depth of this man’s grief. I had lashed out at him, a stranger, in a moment of self-absorption, inflicting pain upon someone already carrying the weight of a profound loss.

The rest of the ride was a blur of remorse. Each jolt of the bus, each drop of rain on the window, seemed to amplify the echo of my own cruelty. I replayed the encounter in my mind, each harsh word a fresh wound. I imagined his face, the sadness in his eyes, the loneliness he must have felt in that crowded bus.

That day, I learned a lesson that would forever stay with me. Kindness, even in the face of frustration, is always the better path. For you never truly know the burdens others carry, the stories etched on their faces, the echoes of a love lost. I carried the weight of my own regret, a heavy cloak draped over my shoulders.

But amidst the remorse, a small seed of change was planted. I began to observe the world with a newfound empathy. I listened more intently to the stories of others, sought to understand their perspectives, and offered a helping hand whenever possible.

The memory of the elderly man and his poignant message remained with me, a constant reminder of the importance of compassion and the fragility of the human spirit. It was a lesson learned the hard way, a lesson etched into my soul, a reminder that kindness, like a gentle rain, can wash away the bitterness and nourish the soul.

Related Posts

Be the first to comment

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published.


*