Yikes! As I grow my wisdom and it starts to grow on my face, I am shocked by the sight of it.
The first place is in public restrooms. The lighting is terrible. If I dare look up while washing my hands I see an older woman with pale skin and shadows under her eyes. Certainly, that’s not the truth. I apply lipstick, and hope the little bit of color will add some youth to my face when I return to the more forgiving light of the restaurant.
Another place my wisdom is put under interrogation is in my mother’s bathroom. The mirror is lit with a series of eight bulbs lining the top of the cabinet over the sink. What was she thinking when she installed that thing? It is light enough to show off every laugh line, sun spot, and pore. It is unforgiving. It screams, you’re getting old, lady.
The last place is perhaps the biggest zing to the self–the reflection in the smartphone. If I’m hunched over, gravity having its way with my jowls, I ain’t looking pretty. I’ve been in the middle of scrolling the latest posts on Facebook about Beth’s marathon or April’s bike ride–yes, my friends are in better shape than me–when the light from the window catches my focused scowl. I see the beginnings of the pruned face I am destined to inherit from my maternal grandmother. I am reminded how, without my permission, it will evolve and deepen each year.
So, what can I conclude here? That perhaps I shouldn’t look too long, and worry, is that really me? And that my beauty isn’t in the beholder but in the proper wattage of the light bulb.
Inspired by the letter Y in the A-to-Z Challenge. If you haven’t yet, click on the link and check out what other writers are writing for their Y and Z posts.