The majority of Jennifer Aniston’s adult life has been spent in the spotlight, with all of its glare. At age 53, she starts to open up about her journey to letting go of regrets and some profoundly personal pain.
Actually, the only place where Jennifer Aniston is the girl next door, if we’re being precise, is in the hills above western Los Angeles. For a very long time, people referred to her in that way. A 1990s slang term for someone who is accessible and unthreatening is “the girl next door.” However, the atmosphere is somewhat scary here, between lanes of impenetrable iron gates, among homes hidden behind hedges planted to ensure that you know your position. One assumes that in order to reside here, one must have attained some level of Olympian status, such as 30 years of being one of the most adored individuals in American popular culture.
I’m thinking this as I walk through the gates of her home and onto the pea stone parking lot. 500-foot-tall entrance doors, trimmed trees, and bubbling waterfalls. Then, all of a sudden, there is a lot of barking and Aniston’s voice is heard inside yelling at her dogs. Aniston appears to be the owner’s out-of-town friend staying here for a few days when she opens the door, wearing tattered jeans, a tank top, and bare feet.