I vividly remember staring out the backseat car window and smiling at absolutely nothing watching the trees go by for long stretches of time. Even at a young age, I craved to have the happy wrinkles that lived on my Grandma's face. It wasn't because I wanted to get older, or to make my wrinkles look better so that I was attractive, but because the smile that was on my grandma's face was almost permanent. Even in her saddest moments, her happy wrinkles displayed the stories of joy in her life. They weren't forced, but they were sculptured into her face from experience and hard work. It was a constant reminder to choose a smile and make it beautiful.