I’ve been having MAJOR issues lately, re my age and aging. Each trip to the bathroom is stressful, as I’m forced to look in the mirror and see my unfamiliar face. I don’t recognize that old-looking woman in the mirror. She looks a little like my mother. But otherwise, she seems entirely foreign to me. A bad joke.
Lately, I’ve been strangely(or maybe not so strangely) drawn to pictures of myself. Not old pictures. Relatively recent ones. From before I started to look so middle-aged. I stare at one, from just a couple of years ago, and wonder how I could still be that same person. Am I still that same person?
But I digress. Even more than usual. I just wanted to let you in on my state of mind before I told you this short, pointless story.
I was on line at my pharmacy, waiting to pick up some prescription or another. I usually have my earbuds in. Volume up on some podcast. But this day I’d left my phone at home. Desperate for a few moments of freedom. Away from all technological chains.
There was a woman in front of me. She reminded me of my mom, a little. Short, fat, no makeup, careless clothes, messy hair. She seemed like someone who’d stopped caring a long time ago. Like she was playing the role of, “middle-aged housewife” on some bad sitcom.
I was probably staring at her. I just couldn’t look away. Couldn’t stop thinking, PLEASE oh please don’t let me ever look like that. I won’t let myself be that person. I started to wonder what she looked like before. Did she ever take good care of herself? Ever make an effort? I admit that my temporary obsession with her was mean and condescending. And extremely judgmental.
And who am I to talk?
But there I was, obsessing over her.
Anyway, I overheard the cashier ask her date of birth. She was my age. 42.
Tags: age, middle-aged