It's happened a time or two before in my life. Obviously, I don't have the face I did when I was twenty, and the aging process is not linear, at least not for me. This is one of the times it's progressed in a couple of big jumps, so the face I see in the mirror today is not the one I saw when I looked there a year ago.
Working in the castle all last year definitely didn't help things any. I spent most of my days there, where there were few mirrors, and I certainly didn't spend any time trying to find one in order to check my appearance. When I was home, I'd look at myself just long enough to make sure I'd gotten all the plaster dust and paint daubs out of my hair. Somewhere in there, I got my hair cut much shorter than I've worn it as an adult - the daily routine of dirt and washing had destroyed the ends (and much of the middle parts).
It's just a little nerve-wracking, this process of catching an image I don't recognize out of the corner of my eye. I'm the only one here, so you'd think I'd recognize ALL the faces around the place. But, no. I see a face, jump a little, and then realize it's just me.
I've stopped a few times to study this new face, the person people see when I leave the house. (To be accurate, they will one day see it, on that day faraway when we can be around people without wearing masks all the time. The day will come, I'm pretty sure.)
She's not bad looking, the woman in the mirror. She's no longer young, but the lines around her eyes and mouth speak of a lifetime where smiles showed more frequently than frowns. I like that about her. Her jowls are loosening, the lines sharply defined between the corners of her mouth and her chin line. She looks a lot like the aunts on my Mom's side of the family. She has a dimple in her cheek accenting her smiles. Her short, curly, mop of hair has several generous streaks of gray, and she has clearly given up all attempts to keep it tamed. It's spunky.
I am relieved to conclude that she looks like someone I would like if I ever got to know her, because somehow, improbably, when I make a face in the mirror, she makes the exact same face in return. She is me, or I have become her. Whichever.
While there's a small part of me that's sad to know the last vestiges of youth are quickly leaving my face, the greater part of me is most grateful I'm around to observe the changes. You aren't born with a face like mine, you have to earn it!
And, Good willing, this will not be the last time I need to adjust to reality. Gettin' older ain't for sissies, but it sure beats the alternative. (At least as far as I know, but that's a whole 'nother topic.)
Here's to life, changes and all!
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