She is at war with the mirror. Like so many wars, it’s difficult to say with any certainty where it began. The first attacks were subtle inferences of lost youth, followed by more pointed attacks on certain features, leading to an all out assault.
She thought she had solved the problem by not looking at herself when she passed mirrors. But like most diversionary tactics, it only got her so far.
Herein lies the rub, she liked looking at herself. Her mother swore that as a child she never passed a mirror without gazing into it, making a face, winking, or leaning in for a better view. She was curious and always wanting to know what she looked like in her hat, making a face, crying, laughing, whatever she was doing, she wanted and needed to see it. Because seeing it made her feel real.
She can no longer stand not to feel real. She decides she must call a cease fire, reframe her thinking, and reclaim herself. As age leaves behind its mark, she chooses to stop averting her gaze and learns to celebrate her gifts.
She has a loving smile that extends comfort and support with its mere flash, any lines created there prove her success. She reveres the smallish lines at the corner of her eyes because they originate from smiling and are a product of her happy contented life. She grows to see the deeper crevices as signals of her determination and commitment. She wears them like badges of honor.
Her surrender brings her freedom. She becomes fearless and again looks at herself in every passing mirror. She celebrates her coming of age and her blossoming knowledge of herself and the world. She shines from the inside out revealing an ageless, timeless, inner beauty.
She breathes and savors the moment, not comparing herself to anything or anybody, simply enjoying what is.
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