I try not to look in the mirror much any more.  I prefer the other views that I wrote about in Post #114: The View.  If I do look, it’s just so I don’t embarrass myself with Albert Einstein eyebrows, unruly nose and ear hair, or just a bugger in my nose.  It’s also better to look after I’ve showered and there’s steam on the glass to give me that porn-star look.   Like Photoshop, the fogginess helps hide the wrinkles, scars, and age spots that distinguish us from the younger generation.

I read somewhere that we form an image of ourselves at a certain age, and that’s what we see in the mirror today.  I wish I would have formed mine in the 70’s!  When people tell me I haven’t changed a bit, I believe them if only out of wishful thinking.  Yes, age should be a feeling inside, not what we see on the outside.  The mirror, every time you look in it, tries to change that perception.

“Mirror, Mirror, on the wall – who is the fairest of them all?” uttered the Queen into the Magic Mirror.  Sometimes the answer isn’t what you want it to be, unless you’re Snow White.  I’m glad my days of trying to look like Snow White are over, and that vanity is no longer a selfish element of my life.  Just seeing myself in the mirror now, simply means that I’m having a good day.

Here’s a poem that I wrote a few years ago that best reflects my face in the mirror:

Mirror

When I look in the mirror,
Who’s that old man?
I’ll never look again,
A personal ban.
.
I feel young,
But the refection is not.
It is the reality,
That I’ve always fought.
.
If we can’t see ourselves,
Do we still grow as old?
Only in the mirror,
Do the facts unfold.
.
Forgive my stare,
I’d rather look at you.
I forget about my age,
When you are the view.
.
As I speak to you,
You call me, “sir.”
A respectful word,
But older, you infer.
.
It serves as a reminder,
Your youth I don’t share.
You see the tired eyes,
And the thinning hair.
.
I can’t see the change,
My chin’s now a pair.
The fact you can,
Seems somewhat unfair.
.
Yes, I feel the aches,
That come with age.
But it’s the wrinkles,
That serve as a gauge.

.

I’m not in the shape,
I used to be.
But when looking at you,
I can’t see me.
.
When my eyes are directed,
At you not me.
Then, in a way,
I’m feeling age-free.
.
Copyright 2011 johnstonwrites.com